His Prisoner
by ChronicLegCramp-Since'99
Summary: Clary awakes to find herself in the last possible place she could want and guess who's waiting for her, Clary/Seb Rated M for Rape and Incest
1. Chapter 1

**His Prisoner **

**A TMI Fanfic by ChronicLegChronic-Since'99 **

Pairing: Clary/Seb

*Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments and all its characters belong to Cassandra Clare, respectively*

* * *

The first thing Clary registered was the sweltering heat. Wearily, she cracked her emerald eyes open, lifting her head from where it had been lulling against her chest. Light flickered from a bulb fixed to the wall on her left. She was in some kind of basement, a set of stone steps to the right leading up to a shut door. The room was more dusty than anything else, cobwebs dangling from the corners of the ceiling and it was completely empty, aside from a brass-framed double bed. It was pushed against the far wall, opposite from where she stood- for she was standing, her sock-encased feet planted firmly on the ground.

Her red curls were sticking to her temples with sweat and she reflexively moved her hands, intending to scrape her hair back from her face. But she couldn't; she looked up to find her hands suspended above her head, trapped in a thick, wrought-iron cuff that hung from a chain imbedded in the off-white ceiling.

Clary instantly started yanking at it, her wrists rubbing together and against the rim of the cuff. Her heart began racing, stuttering as she glimpsed the other metal chains nailed to the walls around her- even the posts of the bed- driving the redhead into further panic.

How did she get here? When? Why? By who...and how was she going to get out?! The last thing she remembered was heading down the road to Luke's. She'd been to the Institute to see Jace, but hadn't stayed long; things had gotten a little out of hand and he'd banished her, terrified she was going to go up in a flurry of flames, at his hands. Everything else was a blank, but she reasoned that she would remember if she had made it to Luke's or not.

Buzzing with nervous energy, she snapped out of her head and into action, taking a breath and leaping into the air to get a grip on the rusty chain, swinging her body and pulling as hard as she could, her aim to force the chain out of the ceiling. She dropped after a few seconds, the skin of her wrists raw-red and aching. Her feet stumbled as they hit the floor and the cuff sliced into her wrists as she hastily corrected herself.

Admittedly, her legs were stronger than her arms at her current point in Shadowhunter training, but if she didn't get out of here, she'd never be able to work on that anyway. She jumped again, this time doing her best to climb her way up the chain, momentarily despising her small light body. It was equally easier and harder than the rope she practised on back at the Institute; whereas the metal didn't give her palms and fingers rope-burn, she'd never thought to practise with bound hands.

She folded her legs up to put extra strain on the fixture and swung, thrusting all her weight into the motion and ignoring the increasing sting of her wrists, where the skin was now split and bleeding.

"Come on," she ground out under her breath, starting to feel dizzy with fatigue and lack of nourishment. Her body was slick with perspiration and her peach, shell-sleeved top and jeans were coarse and filthy.

"A futile effort, I'm afraid,"

Clary's fingers slipped from the chain and she fell, letting out a sharp gasp as the cuff ripped at her wounds and she almost dislocated her arms; her toes slammed into the floor painfully, but she desperately hauled herself up right, her mouth dry and her breathing thin. She looked up.

"Sebastian," the redhead swallowed harshly, anxiety tearing through her gut as she stared at the familiar outline in the doorway at the top of the stairs.

"I used demon incantations on them," he went on, his smooth, refined voice quiet as they regarded each other. "They wont come loose." he clambered down the steps after a pause, slowing to a crawl as he neared her, his black gaze bright and serious. Clary watched him minutely, breathing through her mouth and stirring a limp curl that had fallen in front of her face. Her brother was in a white shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and gaping open at the neck; it was untucked over scuffed jeans that were fraying at the hems. His feet were bare she noted, surprised, considering the dirty floor.

"Sebastian-" she began, but he spoke, suddenly reaching a hand out to touch her right forearm lightly.

"Look what you've done," he tutted as he examined her bloody wrists, his fine eyebrows knitting together. The redhead recoiled as he leaned close, turning her hands this way and that, but he didn't remove the stiff iron that held them captive. His eyes flitted down to her green gems at her response to his proximity. She flinched when he raised his hand to tuck the curl hanging in front of her face behind her ear.

"What am I doing here, Se- Jonathan?" she asked, her throat tight as she searched her brothers elegant features.

"This is where you belong, Clary. With me," he murmured softly, running his knuckles over her freckled cheek and not seeming to notice how she leaned away, her eyes flashing. "You see that, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?" she breathed in exasperation. "You have me chained up in a basement!" he shook his head impatiently, his white locks falling into his eyes.

"Its just a precaution- you'd run otherwise," he explained in a soothing tone, rubbing her arms affectionately. "And you wouldn't want to anger me, would you?" the redhead cringed at his sickeningly reassuring smile but shook her head, no.

"My wrists..." she prompted carefully, trying to make herself appear as meek and harmless and obedient as she could under her brothers intense scrutiny.

"Right. I'll go get a stele to take care of those," Jonathan said, sounding reluctant to leave her as he cupped her jaw in his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead. Clary held extremely still, holding her breath and resisting the violent urge to shove him away and kick out at him. He gazed at her a moment more, sighing almost blissfully and then turned for the stone steps.

"Hurry back to me..." the redhead called faintly, attempting to act distressed at his departure; it was risky, she knew, but she was hoping he would appreciate her effort, whether it was convincing or not. She waited tensely as he stopped and slowly looked back at her, over his shoulder. If he saw through her façade, he didn't show it.

"Oh, don't worry. I will." he replied in a knowing tone, his onyx gaze smouldering as his lovely lips quirked up into a smirk.

"Good." Clary offered what she hoped was a genuine smile in return, biting the inside of her cheek. Jonathan lowered his pretty lashes over his eyes and winked at her before disappearing up into the house above.

The redhead went physically slack, the wounds on her wrists protesting mildly against the cuff. She felt tears of despair and frustration fill her eyes. She _needed_ to get out of here. Her brother had played nicely enough so far, but that wasn't going to last long. If she could get her hands on a stele, she might have a fighting chance of escaping...

She wiped her face on her arm and took a couple deep breaths, hearing floorboards creak above her. She had to keep calm, keep a clear head. One wrong move could mean the end of everything she knew and believed in, and although her world had been turned upside down once before, this time would send her hurling to the bottom of an abyss she would never return from.

She grit her teeth and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

Clary had been wondering if Jonathan was ever coming back, when the door opened, startling her with its abruptness. Her brother inched around it, a bucket in either hand- steam rising from each- a fluffy maroon towel slung over his shoulder and a white bottle clenched between his teeth. He managed to look graceful, even juggling all those things.

"What's that for?" the redhead asked, half-nervous, half-suspicious as she eyed the buckets; he set them down in front of her and she could see that one of them was foamy with suds, a sponge floating on the surface. "I thought you were getting your stele-?"

"I did. It's right here," he replied, dropping the towel and bottle by the buckets before pulling the smooth, familiar cylinder from his back pocket. He approached her, running a hand through his ivory hair. Clary turned her head aside as he towered over her, marking each of her arms with an iratze. She could feel the heat rolling off his body, making her uncomfortable and not only because of the rooms humidity. Her skin simmered under the tip of the stele, but soon she found the pain in her wrists subsiding.

"Thanks," she mumbled, hoping she didn't sound too begrudging. Her brother said nothing, merely tucked the stele into his back pocket and started unbuttoning his shirt. The redhead froze, apprehension clawing at her throat once again as she watched him take his shirt off and start tearing strips off it. "Don't you have bandages or something?" her green eyes subconsciously followed along the curls and flicks of the rune-scars coating his chest before she caught herself, flushing deeply and casting her eyes downwards.

"This is quicker," he answered as he dipped a piece of his shirt in the clear water bucket and began dabbing at her wounds, cleaning away the blood. "Besides. I enjoy making you squirm." he added, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he looked directly down into her eyes. His gaze was dark and piercing and infinite; she looked away. He chuckled and because of the angle he stood at while he bound her wounds with fresh strips of his shirt, she felt his breath tickle her ear, sending a tingle down her spine.

It took longer than it normally would to wrap the cotton material around her wrists, since he clearly had no intention of removing the iron cuff and being so close to each other that their bodies touched, made the redhead uneasy. When he was finished, he shifted and swiftly tore her peach top down the middle.

"What are you doing?" Clary demanded, belatedly stepping back and out of his grasp; the chain jingled above her head, echoing around the silent room. Her top was now hanging open over her stomach and her white, satin lace bra, which she had put on that morning for Jace.

"I cant clean you unless we take off those dirty clothes," Jonathan told her, excising patience. The redhead stared at him, as if waiting for him to laugh and tell her he was just kidding. He didn't. "The easy way or the hard way, little Sister. Your choice." his voice was low as he slowly moved towards her and ripped the remains of her top from her torso. The redhead had been thinking that if the 'easy' way was as humiliating as this would be, she didn't care to learn how the 'hard' way would be- but then she saw how her brothers eyes lingered on her bare skin, lazily travelling up to her face.

She made a split-second decision and brought her leg up between his, fast and mercilessly. He shouted in fury and doubled over, winded and his guard slipping momentarily. But it was long enough for Clary to get a grip on the chain and swing, slamming into him with the force of both her legs. She landed expertly and watched as the white-blond skidded across the floor on his back, to where the double bed stood. Something caught her eye and she muffled a noise of exultation as she saw his stele roll under the bed, mentally praying he hadn't noticed. If she could coax him into undoing the cuff...but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, not now.

Jonathan was in front of her in a matter of milliseconds, his hand around her neck and squeezing.

"The hard way it is." he purred menacingly down at her with his black eyes exited. "I was considering releasing you so that you could clean yourself, however..."

"Liar!" the redhead shot back, voice fierce but strained under his grip. "You wouldn't throw away the opportunity to feel me up just the way you've always dreamed." she spat in his face, feeling strangely brave now that she knew he wasn't going to punish her with anything more than his touch.

"Do you know what, Clarissa?" he calmly wiped his face on the back of his free hand, his angular features still full of amusement. Did he like it when she fought back? She'd have to use that to her advantage, among other things. She would have to be careful about it though- she never knew when he was going to switch. "You are absolutely right." he gave her a sleazy grin, tightening his grasp on her neck slightly as his other hand went to work on undoing her jeans. He kept his eyes on her red face and slid his fingers into her underwear. The redhead instantly started struggling, kicking out at his knees frantically, despite his hold on her throat.

"Get off me!" she screamed, the hysteria she'd been putting off finally rising. "Someone- anyone! Help! Someone help me!" he struck her so hard across the face that she saw stars for a few moments, too disorientated to realise he was no longer strangling her. She vaguely noted a tugging sensation against her legs.

"No one's going to hear you, Clary," she blinked down at where his voice had sounded from, her vision blurring at the edges; he had taken his leather belt off and was fastening it bitingly tight around her ankles.

"What are you going to do?" she slurred, registering the blood that was streaming from her nose and getting in her mouth. And then she was jolted into clarity by the realisation that she was completely naked, apart from her bra.

"I'm going to wash you," he replied softly, pressing his lips to her thigh briefly before straightening up and ripping away her last shred of dignity in one fluid movement. He smiled appreciatively at his handiwork, fingertips trailing up her side. She was a worm on a hook- his hook. She jerked away as best she could but he was already turning away for the bucket with the soapy sponge. "The water isn't as hot as it was to begin with, since you decided to be naughty. But it will have to do," Clary bit her tongue and shut her eyes on her brothers obvious pleasure.

He started with her arms, avoiding the cuff and makeshift bandages on her wrists. The sponge smelled fruity, the redhead noted involuntarily and the white-blonds motion was gentle and relaxing against her sweaty skin. Once he'd done her neck and shoulders and the sponge moved to her chest, her eyes flew wide. She felt ill as his onyx gaze locked with hers and he rubbed both the sponge and his free hand over her breasts in a teasing manner. Flicking his thumb back and forth over her right nipple, he smiled crookedly down at her, causing her nether regions to warm against her will. Cheeks burning, she looked away and tried to ignore how her body was responding to his ministrations.

He cleaned her tummy next before circling round to her back, where he got back to the task at hand, to Clary's uttermost relief. However, soon the sponge was running over the curve of her bum, and Jonathans other hand was snaking around her waist, his breath hot and quick on the back of her neck.

"The quicker you finish this..." the redhead murmured, leaving the end of the sentence unspoken in the heavy, humid atmosphere and pushing down the pure hatred boiling in her veins.

"I don't think I can contain myself for much longer..." he whispered into her ear, in a deliberate tone. Icicles stabbed up the redheads back as she heard him pull down the zipper of his jeans.

"Well, you're gonna have to. You want me to be clean, don't you?" she said in a reasonable tone, her heart beating wildly in her chest, like a caged bird. His hand stroked up between her thighs from behind, making her jump in shock.

"But you're so wet," he countered breathlessly, sounding almost petulant and whiney. Clary cringed and then scowled, for it was true and she'd never felt so ashamed of herself in her whole life.

"Just think how much more wet I'll be once you're done rubbing that sponge all over my body..." she told him, hoping the bitterness didn't come through in her tone.

"You're right. I want you _dripping_ for me," he said huskily, catching her earlobe between his teeth and heightening the warmth between her legs.

He hurriedly cleaned her legs and feet before taking his time maddeningly over her crotch, eyes hungry as she let out moans embarrassingly and feverish colour spreading along his sharp cheekbones. Eventually, he poured the sudsy bucket of water over her body and retrieved the bottle from the floor that appeared to be shampoo. He massaged the stuff into her hair briskly, his fingers soothing against her scalp, but she was increasingly aware of what his inevitable plan of action was.

He told her to shut her eyes as he poured the clear water over her tangled curls, making sure to rinse the shampoo out of it properly. Then he patted and wiped her dry with the towel and wrung her hair out. Goosebumps rose on her arms as he turned away, gathering up the used articles- including the wrecked material of her clothes and his shirt- and headed for the stairs.

"Wait- where are you going?" Clary hollered weakly, even more self-conscious about her nudity now that he was leaving her alone in the basement, chained up and helpless.

"I'm just getting rid of this lot," he called over his shoulder pleasantly, as though he found her insecurity charming. "Honestly, Clary,"

"And you're coming back?" she questioned, making herself sound desperate and needy. He turned in the doorway, smirking and wickedly entertained.

"Yes." he sighed, shaking his head even as his gaze visibly wandered longingly over her tiny frame. "I'll only be a minute,"

While she waited, she attempted to slip her feet out of his belt, but she could hardly move them at all, his belt unyielding.

When Jonathan returned, he was holding another stele, which simultaneously made her breathe out in relief and tense up. He didn't know he'd lost the other one under the bed, or he'd forgotten about it, which was lucky for the redhead. But...

"What's that for?" she asked him cautiously, instinctively leaning away from his approach.

"I'm going to have to knock you out for a bit, Clarissa," he told her, casually passing the stele back and forth between his hands. "Now, I would appreciate it if you didn't struggle."


	3. Chapter 3

When Clary came to, she felt comfortable- immensely so, considering her previous position- but there was a dull ache of pins and needles in her hands and arms. She opened her eyes wearily, her stomach clenching with pangs of hunger and her skin still warm; she was beginning to forget what the cold felt like. She was lying on a bed, more specifically, the brass-framed double bed against the wall in the basement. Her hands were imprisoned in separate metal cuffs now, attached to the bed frame, but her legs were still bound by Jonathan's leather belt, probably because her legs were too short to reach the shackles at the end of the bed. There was no duvet for reasons unknown and even though her brother had dressed her in a black slip of lingerie, she wished that she had something to act as a barrier between them. She could instantly tell she wasn't wearing underwear.

The single bulb on the wall flickered eerily and she heard the door squeaking open behind and above her. There were light footsteps on the stairs and then he came into view. Jonathan was no longer bare-chested, having donned a loose grey jumper over the same frayed jeans. Perhaps there was no central heating in the rest of the house, after all, it all seemed to be generating down here. Or maybe it was a calculated move to encourage her to let her guard down.

"Did you sleep well?" he inquired peaceably as if she were a guest, not someone he was holding captive. There was a bowl and spoon in his hands with a piece of buttered bread sticking out of the side; he set it down on the ground to help her sit up, back against the pillow. Her arms were bent behind her head. "That's better. Now, I'm sure you're hungry- I brought you something to eat," he retrieved the bowl as he sat on the edge of the bed, beside her and held a spoonful of orangey-red liquid to her lips.

"I'm fine." she muttered stubbornly, turning her face away while her mind told her 'well done!' and her stomach screamed in protest.

"Oh, don't be like that," he murmured, reaching out to tuck her still damp hair behind her ear. "Here, look," she glanced at him to see him take a deliberate mouthful of the liquid and swallow. She suppressed a sigh, half-heartedly rolling her eyes as he smiled at her, fathomless eyes secretive and dark and expectant. She didn't like the idea of eating from the same spoon as her twisted brother, but she needed all the strength she could get. As groggy as she was from induced-sleep, she was ever-aware of the stele lying beneath this very bed, waiting for her. She opened her mouth wide and averted her emerald gaze from the smug look tainting her brothers sharp features as he spoon-fed her. Tomato soup; her body yearned for more immediately.

"Can I have some of the..." she said hesitantly, indicating the bread with her eyes. Asking Jonathan for food- for anything- left a bitter taste on her tongue, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. He balanced the bowl in his lap, ivory locks falling across his forehead as he tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into the soup before holding it to her mouth. As she took it inside, her lips closed around his fingertips without meaning to and she withdrew hastily, concentrating on chewing. The white-blond smirked a little as he observed her, his eyes running over her dress and dilating like a sharks. He finished feeding her, both of them silent as he watched her openly and she snuck wary glances at him.

"You cant say I don't take care of you," he said, obviously pleased with himself as he placed a slender hand on her thigh. Clary resisted the impulse to cringe and instead addressed a more pressing issue.

"I need the bathroom."

"Ah," he put the empty bowl on the floor and brandished his stele, his eyes sparking with amusement. "This will be fun."

"What are you doing?" she asked, barely masking her panic as he rolled her over onto her side and lifted her dress up to touch his stele to her lower back.

"Drawing an immobility rune. Just relax, Clary," he murmured and she could practically hear the smirk that was undoubtedly lighting his face.

"What, is that like an epidural?" she attempted to joke, her tone coming out weird and her throat constricting with nerves. She didn't like the thought of not being able to move her legs- to run if she needed to, which she did.

"Sort of," Jonathan allowed, clearly enjoying himself; the redhead tried not to think about her bottom bared before him. And then he gave her left cheek a playful bite, before rolling her onto her back once more. She gasped in surprise, the numbing sensation spreading through her lower limbs momentarily sliding from the forefront of her mind. "Sorry. Couldn't resist," he grinned at her crookedly, making her stomach churn. He undid his belt from around her ankles, since it was no longer necessary and then dealt with the iron cuffs on her bandaged wrists. She strained her neck up, trying to see what he was doing but his shoulder blocked her view. Not giving her time to once again become used to the control of her hands and arms, he raised her up into his arms; her legs hung limply over his left forearm.

"Why didn't you do this earlier?" she questioned, mildly confused. "You could have put me in the bath."

"Oh, my beloved Sister, that would have been _too_ easy," he answered with a conspiratorial quirk of his lips as he mounted the stone steps. "Don't you agree?"

"You didn't think this through, did you?" she guessed, risking his wrath. They were at the basement door.

"Trust me. This was thoroughly planned out." something in his onyx eyes told her he was telling the truth; she couldn't help a shiver. He leant his elbow on the door handle and it swung open easily, to Clary's surprise.

"The door wasn't locked...?" she hadn't realised she'd spoken aloud until her brother answered her.

"It locks from the outside,"

"Oh." she fell quiet, wondering why he'd chosen to give her that piece of- highly useful- information. They were gliding through a wooden-floored hallway, the walls somewhere between blue and purple. There were doors along it, ranging from closed to slightly ajar to wide open. However, her brother brought her out through the arch at the end, which lead into a small area with only a staircase occupying the space. They went up.

"This is...different- to Valentine's place, I mean," she commented, eyeing the elegant brass sconces lining the walls as they reached the landing. There was a single door, its doorknob also brass. It looked made of thick oak.

"'Valentine's place' was cold," Jonathan replied with evident disdain. "I thought you'd prefer warmth."

"Well, there's warm and then there's feeling like you're living in a sauna." she said, giving him a look as they entered the only upstairs room. He snorted at that.

"Its not that hot," he denied, taking her across what she briefly noticed was a bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. "Its comfortable, isn't it?"

"I guess it depends on the company..." she muttered, voice as neutral as she could make it. The white-blond glanced at her sideways for a long moment, expressionless. And then he sat her down on the toilet, pulling her dress up around her waist and out of the way.

"Good enough for you?" he said, tone faintly tinged with sarcasm. How could he possibly be annoyed? She wanted to shout in frustration.

"A little privacy?" she returned pointedly, although she hadn't wanted to sound demanding; provoking him wasn't going to work in this situation. "Please?" she tried again, smiling timidly up at him. He made an elaborate show of shrugging his shoulders, before exiting the room and closing the door behind him. She blew out a breath and relieved herself. Pulling a strip of tissue off the roll, she did her best to wipe herself without the ability to stand up, before flushing.

She entertained the idea of sneakily pulling Jonathan's stele from his back pocket while he carried her. But what would she do with it in that moment? Its not like she'd be able to make a dash for a room, lock herself in and escape through a portal. And she couldn't wait until they were down in the basement because he'd surely chain her to the bed and she didn't have any underwear, let alone pockets to hide it in. No, she'd be caught as soon as she tried. Best to bide her time and wait for the first opportunity to get to the stele under her bed.

"Done?" she jerked her head up to see the white-blond poking his head around the door, feigned-uncertainty on his face; she knew it was feigned because she didn't believe her brother was ever unsure about anything- even when things were obviously wrong or incorrect. Jonathan was right about everything, no exceptions. He was lifting her against his chest again now, and moving to the sink so that she could lean over and wash her hands. Glancing in the mirror, she noted that he must have cleaned away the blood from when he'd hit her. Or maybe she'd imagined the bloody nose...

"Thank you," she said, a minuscule but genuine smile on her face- he could have given her a bucket and sat back and watched. Any kindness from her demonic brother, even something small like taking the time to bind her wounds, was a blessing considering all the things that he could do and would do if she didn't get away soon. "Are you taking me back downstairs...?" she gazed up at him with doe-eyes.

"For now." he replied firmly, but his features morphed into an apologetic expression. "When I can trust you, we'll sleep up here together. As brother and sister..." he let the sentence trail off and the redhead knew there would be more- that he was probably going to be staying down in the basement with her tonight, but doing the last possible thing from sleeping.

They didn't speak again as he took her back downstairs.

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**_Sexual content next chapter... ;)_**


	4. Chapter 4

Jonathan lay her down on the double bed, fastening his belt around her ankles again, most likely in anticipation for when the immobility rune would wear off. However, when he moved to secure Clary's wrists in the metal cuffs, she spoke up.

"I've been good, haven't I?" she asked, trying to appeal to his better nature; whether he had a better nature was still unclear, though highly unlikely. He looked like he was going to argue so she went on quickly. "Its not like I can do anything with my hands- not with my legs tied up. And my legs are the most important thing, right? And you're here so any attempt to escape is impossible right now," she thought his inscrutable eyes lingered on the bed for a moment, seeming to be looking through it. Did he know about the stele under there? And if so, why hadn't he taken it away? The redhead started to feel uneasy, subconsciously clutching the mattress sheet either side of her lap.

"You have one chance, Clarissa," he told her once he was done considering her proposition. "One step wrong and the shackles come back on."

"Okay." she nodded, softening her green eyes and putting her hand on his leg. He looked down at her hand, before his eyes wandered back up to her face, a predatory smirk tainting his. She had to give him what he wanted while she was stuck here, but it wouldn't be too long now; once he left the room, she'd grab the stele and portal away. She'd just have to suffer until then. But then he surprised her by getting to his feet and stretching lazily like a slick panther, his soft grey jumper riding up to reveal smooth, pale skin and the taut muscle beneath it.

"I'm going to get changed," he announced, heading for the stairs and jogging up them two at a time. "Behave while I'm gone." he added and she twisted round to see the warning in his black gaze, which matched his tone. She nodded mutely and watched him go.

_He's testing me,_ she thought with a sudden stab of anxiety. But she didn't have time to waste over the 'ifs' and 'whys' that surrounded the enigma that was Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, her brother.

She threw herself over the side of the bed and her knees thudded painfully against the hard ground. Beads of sweat rose on her forehead as her heartbeat spiked. She glanced towards the door, listening for the creak of floorboards, any sign that her brother had heard her fall. Nothing. Taking a steadying breath, she crawled halfway under the bed, pushing her arms to drag the dead-weight of her legs behind her. She cast her gaze about the floor, getting impatient as the light flickered, impairing her vision.

She rubbed her eyes once and then a second time, wishing that they were deceiving her. But they weren't; the stele wasn't there. Clary mentally kicked herself, fist pounding against the floor with disappointment and realisation and fear. Her brother had retrieved it while she was unconscious- she'd automatically assumed that the one he'd been using since then, was the spare he'd brought down to knock her out with. They were identical, she couldn't have known; but it didn't stop her from being angry with herself, hating the fact that she had fallen right into his trap. Two steely grips closed around her legs then and yanked her out from under the bed.

"Just when I thought we were getting somewhere," Jonathan spoke and she could hear the humour in his voice. He used his foot to turn her over onto her back. She stared up at him impassively, biting down on her tongue. His chest was bare and he wore only a pair of dark blue pyjama bottoms. "Well, what have you to say for yourself, my darling Sister?"

"I thought there was a stele under there and I was going to use it to escape. Wasn't that obvious?" she retorted daringly, arching her eyebrows. Her brother was gazing down at her with his arms crossed, but he seemed merely thoughtful- maybe even triumphant. He probably preferred her chained up and entirely at his mercy.

"Very well. On with the shackles it is," he stated nonchalantly, before effortlessly picking her up off the floor and placing her on the bed. She struggled weakly as the iron cuffs went back on her wrists, but it was pointless. She swallowed against the panic that was practically strangling her throat. She yanked at the metal, her makeshift bandages coming loose, while her brother walked to the wall at the foot of the stairs and flicked a switch. The room was plunged into pitch darkness and Clary stiffened, trying to make out the white-blonds outline. And then she sensed him climbing over her to lie beside her on the bed.

His skin being as pale as it was, could just about be seen- almost like he was made out of the same material as witchlight stones- but nothing definitive. She could feel his eyes boring into her face and then his breath was on her neck as he brought his mouth down on it; she squirmed at first, but when he didn't stop, she found herself tuning into how slow and seductive he was being and reluctantly resigned herself to closing her eyes and imagining it was Jace. How she wished it was...

Jonathan's hand ran up the inside of her thigh beneath the black lingerie and paused there, thumb brushing back and forth. The redhead failed to suppress a shudder as she pictured Jace's pianists hands, tan and golden and making her wet. Her brothers tongue was swirling against her pulse-point and she absently realised that she was panting loudly. There was a sound of ripping fabric and she was left naked, the temperature of the room and her brothers touch bringing a light sheen of sweat to her body.

His mouth moved to her left breast and he was sucking on it in a way that made her legs widen against her will, straining against the belt around her ankles. Since his hand was on her leg, he noticed and chuckled against her chest, his voice rough and deep. It was becoming more difficult to pretend that it was Jace who was tantalising her body in this way. Mainly, because they had never gotten as far as this and even though she could hardly see him, Jonathan just _felt_ different; it wasn't bad or good, just different- new. He was not only uncharted territory, he was the kind that was forbidden. And even as the thought made her sick to the stomach with its wrongness, she found her body aching for him to do more.

He disappeared for a few seconds and the mattress shifted a bit, and then he was lifting her legs and ducking between them, not bothering to undo the belt around her ankles. Clary's heart all but stopped and then started sprinting; it had been endurable- even pleasurable- with him merely touching and kissing and sucking her skin, but she didn't want his male parts anywhere near or inside her. Her virginity belonged to Jace and Jace alone, besides, Jonathan was her _brother_.

She started pulling at the iron cuffs again, frantically as the white-blond settled over her, his body hard and lean and his weight pressing down on her. However, for now he simply sought out her lips with his own. She avoided them as best she could considering she could barely see anything, turning her head from side to side. She wondered idly if her brother had some kind of in-built night vision.

He trapped her face in his hands, fast losing patience and pried her lips open with his tongue forcing its way inside. The redhead sucked in a breath, more physically resisting now and trying to jostle him off her with her knees. But he was too heavy and he was practically shoving his tongue down her throat so that she had to pull in shallow breaths through her nose. His mouth was hot and ravenous on hers, as if he was trying to consume her and she could feel his dick even hotter and insistent between her thighs. She felt like everything had fallen away, leaving her suspended on an invisible edge that could give way any second- and was going to if she didn't do something. Her brother hovered above her now, guiding the head of his penis to her entrance.

"Please don't do this, Sebastian. Please," she begged, shaking her head vigorously and pulling at her chained hands; her wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding again. "I'm a virgin! Please don't-" she felt him halt at that.

"Is that so?" she heard him say, sounding pleased. "You don't know how happy that makes me, little Sister," he started pushing against her opening then and the redhead attempted to stifle the horror racking her body.

"No, don't! Please, Sebastian- don't do it-" she broke off as he invaded her in one smooth, solid movement. She gasped sharply, feeling tears prick her eyes as she registered a quick sting, followed by a dull ache as he filled her with his large, rigid organ. "No more, it hurts," she whimpered, breathing heavily as he pushed further inside her, letting out a lustful groan that seemed to sink into her bones. He braced himself on his left hand while his other grabbed her thigh, widening her legs and he started rocking into her; her ankles were rubbing and scraping against the belt.

The tears were trickling down her face now as she verbally protested against him, her body still in shock and tensed under the pain between her legs. He was so big, it felt like he was stretching her insides to such an extreme that she'd tear.

"Please stop..." she sniffled, shivering despite the intense heat surrounding her. However, as he continued pushing in and out of her, she sensed the pain gradually fading. Her quivering frame relaxed ever so slightly and she found herself fighting against another sensation, which was rapidly overtaking the forefront of her mind. "Sebastian, stop..."

"Call me Jonathan," he breathed almost desperately against her lips, their faces so close that they were exchanging carbon dioxide through their mouths.

"Jonathan, you don't have to do this-"

"Come on, Clary. It feels good, doesn't it?" his voice was just above a whisper, sultry and languid; he started thrusting into her harder and faster, causing her hips to jerk up, her back arching. "Now tell me that doesn't feel good..." she turned her face aside to hide in her upper arm, squeezing her eyes shut in shame.

"Please stop, Jonathan..." she implored, shaking her head slowly in defeat as salty water continued to stream down her cheeks.

"Look at me, Clary," he demanded harshly, his blunt nails digging into her thigh as he pounded into her. "Look at me!" she started in terror and turned her face back, not understanding his outburst- she couldn't even see anything! And then his lips captured hers, pushing them apart to brush along her teeth with his tongue and moan into the back of her throat as he came closer and closer to orgasm. The redhead felt something building within her, knotting in her stomach and her neck tilted back.

She caught herself. "No, Jonathan, don't!" she pleaded, her voice sounding alien to her, a quality lacing it that she couldn't place. He took her firmer and quicker in response, the room deafening her eardrums with a cacophony of panting and squeaking mattress springs and metal grinding against the ground.

"Give in, Clary. Give in to it," he whispered into her ear, nibbling and lapping at her earlobe. "Give in to me..."

"No, please don't make me-!"

She cried out suddenly, feeling her nerve-ends all but explode with release. She let out a wanton moan as her brothers motion became choppy and then he arched into her hard, crying out her name, his body buzzing and trembling against hers. He collapsed on top of her, his hair ticking her neck and chest. Their skin clung together, damp with perspiration and the sticky fluid between their legs. She swallowed down the urge to throw up, instead listening to the little noises of bliss and relief that he let out between pants. His heart was beating so fast in his chest that she felt ill for a moment, uncomfortably intimate as her own heart raced along with his.

As their breathing evened out, the redhead sensed her eyelids drooping closed, her mind drifting down into the depths of sleep, where she could forget about what had just happened. At least, for a while.

* * *

_**Hope you liked this chapter :P**_

_**Just as a side note, I've been listening to the band Mindless Self Indulgence while writing this.**_


	5. Chapter 5

When Clary woke in what she could only assume was the morning, there was a heavy weight on her hips and a sizzling, burning sensation on her arm- which was surprisingly, no longer stuck in an awkward position above her head. Her emerald eyes flew open and she glanced down to see her brother straddling her hips in his boxers, holding her right arm with a stele in hand. As she watched, attempting to shrug off the cloak of sleep, he licked at the blood crusted around her wrist, a curious look lighting his sharp features.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, sitting up and registering a faint soreness in her nether regions. Her stomach tightened as her mind was bombarded by memories of the previous night.

"Seeing what your blood tastes like," he answered as if it was the most normal thing in the world, before marking another iratze on her other arm. "You bloodied your wrists again last night. That's becoming a bad habit, you know," he kissed the cooling skin when he was done and looked up at her with a calm smile playing around his lips. She drew her arms back from his hold and clasped her hands as she returned his gaze, unflinching.

"My Clarissa Adele," he sighed as if blind to the unadulterated loathing darkening her expression; he tucked her wild curls behind her ears and still she said nothing, quiet and unmoving. She didn't know what was worse: what had happened, or the fact that part of her had enjoyed it. "Right, lets take you upstairs so you can get washed. Then we can have breakfast together- well brunch, technically. Would you like that?" he waited for her to reply and when she didn't, he pursed his lips.

They stared at each other for a long tense moment, Clary openly glaring and Jonathan seeming to ponder whether he was irritated by her evident vow of silence. Apparently he was fine with it; he got up and lifted her onto her feet, which were also now free to move. She staggered for a second and subconsciously gripped his arm for balance. He instantly wound an arm around her naked waist and helped her up the stone steps, to the door. She let him, glimpsing the stele in his free hand.

Feeling more awake now, she spent the journey through the blue-purple walled hallway and up to the bedroom, mind whirring with a dozen possible plans involving getting that stele. Running wasn't an option- Jonathan was just too fast. Unless she could get an immobility rune on him somehow-

"Here we are," he announced as they entered the bedrooms adjoining bathroom. "I'll wait outside," he added, obviously pleased by her cooperation; he winked at her, before leaving the room and closing the door. She hastily used the toilet and got washed, using a spare toothbrush that could only be intended for her. She gazed into the mirror, expecting to see shadows beneath her eyes and frown lines, but she looked as healthy as ever, determination blazing in her green gems. She glanced down; she was still naked, but this was not the time to be self-conscious. Especially not now.

"You are so beautiful..." she froze, eyes flitting to where her brother stood in the doorway with his arms folded and his head leaning against the frame. His ivory hair was even more tousled and messy than usual and it made him look younger. Clary bit down on the absurd impulse to say 'so is our Mother' just because she knew the mention of Jocelyn always got under his skin.

She swallowed down the repulsion that his lingering black eyes induced and walked over to him. She went up on her tip-toes and kissed him squarely on the mouth, locking her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. His arms went around her immediately as he eagerly returned the pressure, humming in appreciation. She edged him backwards out of the bathroom and towards the large, wooden-framed, double bed in the middle of the room. The taste of his tongue on hers brought back a vivid reminder of the incident in the basement and she sensed her body warming automatically, in response.

Before her dismay at herself could take hold, her ears were alerted to the sound she'd been waiting for; the stele had dropped from his hand and thudded onto the red carpeted floor. Without a seconds delay, she kneed him as hard as she could in the stomach, catching him off guard and spun around to scoop up the stele and make a break for the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her, but as she fumbled for the lock, the door blasted off its hinges and threw her backwards against the bath, where she bashed her head.

"That's one mistake too many, little Sister," she heard Jonathan purr through the ringing in her ears; she glanced up blindly, her vision coming in and out of focus and she saw him towering over her with a sadistic gleam in his fathomless eyes. "I'm going to have to teach you a lesson." he slipped off his boxers, yanking her body flat onto the ground and flipping her onto her front.

"No..." she croaked, incoherent and overcome with dizziness. And then her brother was pinning her down, spreading her legs roughly and his forearm like a steel bar across the back of her neck. "No! No, no, please, no! I'll be good-!"

"You certainly will, once I'm done with you."

* * *

The redhead had been lying on her side and sobbing for a while, letting out gasps and sniffs and hicks every so often. She felt like she'd leapt into a deep abyss where neither Jace nor any of the rest of her friends and family could follow. Except she hadn't leapt- she had been pulled and dragged down into it, never to reach the surface again. She was doomed to be forever drowning in darkness. With Jonathan.

He was close by, she could feel it but she didn't move, only cried into the cold tiles of the bathroom floor.

"Will you stop that awful snivelling." her breath caught in her throat as she heard the white-blond speak finally, in a wary murmur. She weakly pushed herself up into a sitting position, hugging her knees to her chest and looked across at him, fiery curls falling in front of her face. He was leaning back against the tub next to the broken door, with one leg drawn up and an elbow resting on it, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't look at me like that, Clarissa."

"How else should I look at you, after what you just did?" she rasped, bitter and devastated. "I didn't enjoy it this time, Jonathan."

"You weren't supposed to." he returned plainly, leaning his head back against the bath and letting his hand dangle off his knee. The fact that the siblings were both naked would have seemed odd- disgusting- to an onlooker, but neither of them noticed or cared right then.

"Were _you_ supposed to enjoy it?" she asked, shaking her head as if trying to understand a complicated maths problem. "Because you don't look like you did."

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his onyx eyes reflective and serious.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes you are." he stated, his mouth pulling down at the corner. "You know, for someone who wasn't brought up by the man, you sure have Valentine's mind-games down to a 't'." he scowled at her as if she were unearthing unwanted memories within him.

"I am not-" she started to protest, angry tears blurring her sight, but he cut her off.

"You're trying to make me feel sorry for you. Trying to make me feel bad," he accused, moving towards her and bracing both his hands on the tiles. "You brought it all on yourself, Clary. You attacked me and tried to escape; you needed to be taught a lesson. _You_ made me do it! You gave me no choice! Stop looking at me like that!" his voice had started out toneless, but progressed to ragged yelling, his chest rising and falling sporadically.

"You're the only one who has any choice!" Clary shot back, incredulous. "I'm your prisoner! I'm not here of my own free will! It was your choice to bring me here and do what you've done- you didn't have to, nobody put a gun to your head! You're such a hypocrite! You go on about us belonging together like we're twisted, star-crossed lovers and then you _violate_ me like that- treat me like some cheap whore you bought off the street." her voice shook and she started sobbing again, putting her forehead on her knees.

"You need to learn." was all he replied in a quiet voice, but after a beat, he sighed and wrapped his arms around her trembling body, making shushing noises. "Don't cry, my darling. You need to learn. If you don't, I'll have to keep punishing you. And I don't want to punish you. I'd never want to hurt you. You believe me, don't you?" his voice was gentle and persuasive and reasonable; it sounded to Clary like the voice of a madman. And she'd thought that about Valentine, with his ranting and raving about corruption and impurity.

Jonathan kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back like she was a little kid who had burst into tears after falling off a bike. Was it really worth the risk trying to get away, when he'd always be there to stop her and then torture her in the worst possible way? She closed her eyes and grit her teeth, not knowing the answer.


	6. Chapter 6

"Come on," Jonathan helped Clary up onto her feet, clasping her wrist and leading her into the bedroom. She went willingly, staring down at the ground and barely noticing his stele abandoned on the bathroom tiles as they passed it. Her brother sat her down on the end of the double bed and walked over to a large wardrobe of the same dark wood as the bed-frame. It stood next to the bedroom door on the right of her.

She let her empty green eyes wander around the room; blood-red carpet, a tall lamp in the corner that had a wooden body and forked at the top, holding up a smooth white stone the size of a crystal ball, three bay windows on the left of her, taking up the majority of the wall with thick, cream-coloured, velvet drapes hanging on either side and lastly, a wooden bedside table, its surface cluttered with books and lined paper cramped with spidery writing and a box that Clary recognised easily.

Her hands fisted in the red and white cotton sheets and she felt herself sink back onto the bed, staring through the ceiling. Her mind floated away like a cloud, to Jace and the time they had held each other close at Renwicks, in front of the broken portal. To Simon, spending endless nights with her when Jace had been spirited away by Jonathan. To Luke- the only father she'd ever known- running into his arms in the Hall of Accords. To her mother, crying over her lost child...That was always the first image that came to her mind nowadays, when thinking of her mother.

Slowly the redhead sat up, feeling as though her heart was in a choke-hold. She scrubbed at her face briskly, trying to snap herself out of her wallowing and self-pity. She pushed her hair back, wishing she had something to tie it up with. Jonathan was dressed now, in black jeans and a light grey t-shirt; she could see the strong lines of his back and shoulder blades ripple beneath the thin material as he rummaged through the wardrobe.

He turned back to her and tossed a teal dress onto the bed, followed by a lacy black bra and matching thong. Before she could do or say anything, he was kneeling at her feet and sliding the underwear up her legs, fingertips skimming over her milky skin. He coaxed her hips up to settle the fabric over her crotch, before kissing the friction-burn on the inside of her thighs and standing up. Clary was flushed, but she remained silent and picked up the bra, slipping it up her arms and fastening the clasp at the back. Her brother offered her his hands and she let him pull her up from off the bed. Then he lifted the dress over her head and she put her arms through the straps and smoothed it down over her body.

It was almost uncomfortably snug, hitting her mid-thigh and her breasts were visibly bulging, even as small as they were. Her cheeks burned brighter as she watched the colour spread along her brothers angular cheekbones, his black eyes fixed on her cleavage; his lips parted.

"You said something about breakfast...?" she prompted awkwardly, picking at her cuticles. Her limbs were still stiff and aching from the incident in the bathroom and her mind was in worse condition. And yet, she sensed herself warming between her legs under the white-blonds feverish scrutiny. She felt ill.

"Yes...yes, are you hungry?" he glanced back up at her, running a hand through his ivory hair; he was composed aside from the slight twitch at the corners of his delicate lips as if he was trying not to smirk. She didn't see why, he'd been leering at her practically the entire time she'd been here, among other things...

"Yeah and we were going to eat together...?" she smiled up at him faintly, calling on his pity, which probably didn't exist.

"Well then," he did smirk then, gesturing for her to walk past him; as she went, he caught her arm and whispered in her ear, raising goosebumps on her arms. "I like the dress. A lot."

Carefully shrugging out of his grasp, she moved to the door, her eyes feeling tight from all the crying and the exhaustion that now clung to her body. Her steps were languid as they went out onto the landing and down the staircase; he was hot on her heels and she could feel his breath on her neck, causing a shiver to run down her spine like icy water. She paused in the arch for her brother to move ahead, not knowing whether he'd be taking her to another part of the house or not. He tugged her by the hand, towards the third door at the end of the hall, near the basement door. However, an idea had broken through the redheads jumbled thoughts, straightening out her mind and she planted her feet. Jonathan looked back at her with a quizzical expression.

"Kiss me." she ordered more than requested, playing out the plan formed in her head. The white-blond didn't hesitate with confusion or caution, he simply closed the gap between them and brought his mouth down on hers, his hands entwining in her knotted curls. She fisted her hands in his t-shirt and went up on her tip-toes, making the effort to be a little more convincing than last time. She grazed her brothers bottom lip with her teeth and he became increasingly passionate in response. She forced his body backwards, shooting a glance to the open basement door behind him, while never breaking the kiss. She battled his dominating tongue with her own, almost losing herself in it, her competitive streak making itself known.

However, she was brought back to the task at hand by her brother stopping in the doorway and no longer compliant under the shoving of her body against his. It was now or never. She readied herself to knock him off balance and down into the basement. But then she felt his palms push her shoulders and she went flying down the hallway. She crashed onto the floor, smacking her head back on the wooden slats.

* * *

She must have blacked out for a minute, because the next thing she knew, her body was being dragged, a biting grip around her ankle. She tried to move her head to see what was happening but it made her feel sick, her vision dotted with black spots and the colours around her merging into one. The back of her head was throbbing painfully and she felt a wet substance sliding down her neck. It took her a moment to realise her body was still again, no longer in motion.

"Did you really think I didn't know what you were doing?" she heard someone say, the volume of the words fading in and out. She barely recalled that the voice belonged to Jonathan. There was a noise of impatience, a long pause and then a burning sensation on the side of her throat. She glimpsed a pair of onyx eyes seemingly churning with annoyance; she focused on the silver rings around the pupils as the burning stopped and started up again on her shoulder. The pain at the back of her head was numbing and soon she found the red haze in her head beginning to disperse. "I've had enough of you today. You can twiddle your thumbs in the basement. Alone." She watched her brothers plush lips move as he spoke tersely, the corners of his mouth turned down.

Without knowing what she was doing, she clumsily lifted a hand to press at one of the corners, trying to turn it upwards. His face was still under her fingers and she frowned in concentration as his lips remained curled downwards. Then she was being propelled to her feet by the material of her teal dress, which tore slightly down the middle of her cleavage, revealing the top of her lacy bra. The bubble surrounding her mind burst and she fell against the white-blond, her breath raspy and her body aching far more than earlier. Jonathan held her at arms-length, his elegant features relentless.

"I'm sorry-" she stuttered breathlessly, but he didn't let her finish. He pushed her through the doorway and she went tumbling down the stone basement steps.

"You can stay down there and think about your behaviour," he said as she struggled onto her knees to look up at him. "Until I decide you're worthy of my company again." he slammed the door and she heard the lock click into place. Clary stared at the door, once again in her right mind and subconsciously rubbed at the freshly-runed skin of her neck and shoulder. Healing runes; she wished they could heal a persons mentality.

* * *

**_I hope Clary's failed attempts at getting the stele to get away arent becoming too repetitive. I mean, Clary's barely had any training and even if she was fully trained, she'd never win against Seb. So her skill with runes is really all she has. And_****_ if I had her actually succeed in getting away, the fic would end, that would be it. (This is primarily a Clary/Seb fic)._**

**_Plus to me, the chances of her getting the upper hand and/or getting away from Seb are well, impossible, considering all that he is- that fight scene in CoLS, before the ceremony, to me was highly unrealistic unless Seb was deliberately going easy on her, which I suppose is possible but would shine too much of a 'good' light on him. And I think Cassie is going for pure evil tbh._**

**_Anyway, I'm on chapter 9 at the moment and the whole 'Clary failing to get the stele/Sebastian punishing her' jig wont be going on forever! Hmm, I really should have said all this last chapter...well, whatever._**

**_I hope you continue to enjoy! :P_**


	7. Chapter 7

Clary had been alone in the basement for hours. She didn't know how many, but her empty stomach was gnawing away at itself, the last thing she'd eaten being the tomato soup the previous evening. At first, she'd walked the perimeter of the basement, too keyed up to sleep with the waiting for her brother to come back, running her palm over the dank surface of the walls in case her legs gave out.

Eventually, having tired herself out to the point where she was ready to collapse, she sank down onto the double bed and busied herself with examining her various injuries. The minor bruises that had dotted her elbows and knees had already faded, but there was a large patch of purple-brown skin on her hip and she felt another on her back. There were probably nasty gashes at the back of her head, which would most definitely scar. Both her ankles and wrists were still ringed with ruined red skin, the latters being worse.

She felt a wave of nausea as she fingered the rash-like friction marks on the inside of her thighs, remembering the way her brother had kissed them upstairs, which in tern triggered horrible flashbacks to the bathroom. Her mind was momentarily plagued with dread at what her brother might do next. Tear drops splashed onto her hands and she did her best to suppress the sob that was building in her chest.

She closed her weary green eyes, an image of Jace rising to the forefront of her mind, smiling down at her with his tawny eyes full of love. She didn't doubt for a second that he was out there somewhere, searching for her. But she was beginning to doubt that he would ever find her and she didn't think she had the strength to keep up this string of futile attempts to save herself. She was pitiful, weak, pathetic. She'd only been here two days at most and already she was all but broken. She needed Jace. She needed Jace to save her yet again- she'd thought those days were behind her.

She curled her sore limbs up into the foetal position and cried into the pillow, no longer caring how loud she was being or if her brother could hear her.

After a while, her tears ran dry and with sleep refusing to claim her, she sat up, putting her legs over the side of the bed. She rested her hands on the mattress either side of her as she stared dully down at her feet. She was sweaty from the humid air and desperately needed a shower, even if just to calm her nerves. She wondered absently if Jonathan had decided to let her starve to death down here. And for a moment, she hoped he had. If the only other option was spending the rest of her life trapped here with _him_, she'd rather die.

The yellow light flickered and she glanced towards the basement door instinctively. A few seconds later, the door opened and her brother came through it with a pizza box in hand. Had he left the house? Or had he ordered the food...?

She felt herself stand up hastily, searching the white-blonds face for any trace of left-over anger. He stood at the foot of the stairs, expression blank.

"Where've you been?" she'd tried for light and casual, but her voice came out tense with anxiety. Without looking at her directly, he leant over to slide the pizza box across to her, the cardboard scraping against the hard floor. She ignored the food, only continued staring at her brother. Her heart had begun beating sporadically against her ribcage; she didn't remember a time when Jonathan hadn't looked at her- his eyes were always on her, watching her every move as if in rapture. His bordering-on obsessive fascination with her was the most unnerving thing about him and yet here he was, turning away from her and going back upstairs without a word.

"You're not staying?" she called out, hearing the note of hysteria in her voice, but not having the will to despise herself for it. He visibly hesitated, his foot on the top step and it occurred to the redhead that this might all be just another act. A picture of her brother acting on stage sprung to mind randomly, rounds of applauds echoing around the theatre as he bowed three times, red roses being thrown at his feet and contrasting startlingly with his snowy complexion.

Back in reality, the white-blond still hadn't answered or looked at her. She thought about telling him she wanted him to stay, but she pushed the thought down. She just didn't want to be alone with her mind for much longer. She thought about Jonathan as a little boy, living in the cottage in Idris and waiting days on end for Valentine to return. Had he missed their father during those periods? Or had he grown accustomed to his solitary confinement?

"Please..." she tried again, feeling helpless and hugging her elbows self-consciously. She was feeling dizzy and the smell of pizza was teasing her senses, making her mouth water, but she actively stopped herself from moving towards it. She noticed that her brothers knuckles were grazed. He finally looked at her, though only from the corner of his black eyes. From this angle, his pretty lashes stood out, long and arcing up from his eyelids. Clary bit down on her envy and quietly returned his gaze, her own expectant.

"I'd rather not." he said shortly, his expression unreadable and before the redhead could reply, he was out the door and locking her in. She staggered, clutching her head and letting herself fall to the ground with fatigue. Taking slow, steady breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth, she reached over for the pizza box and clawed it towards her. It had a variety of meat on it with mushrooms and green peppers and the redhead ate it all, despite her belly feeling like it was going to burst and the fact that she didn't like crusts; she didn't know when or if she was going to be given food again so she had to make the most of it. For all she knew, it would turn out to be her last supper, but she tried not to dwell on that thought.

It didn't take long for her brother to return, to her surprise, but it turned out that it was only to allow her another toilet break and nothing else. She couldn't deny that she was grateful- he didn't even use an immobility rune on her- but she wasn't sure how long she would be able to stand his weird mood. It almost made him seem normal- an ordinary, pissed off brother. But Jonathan wasn't ordinary and neither was she. They were never going to be ordinary, not with Valentine as their father, whether or not they'd both been unlucky enough to have been raised by the man. They were always going to be unnatural and nothing could ever change that.

She didn't try anything this time, her mind preoccupied with showing her brother that she could be obedient and docile, not that he paid her any attention. He mechanically stood the broken bathroom door up so that it leant against the frame, in an attempt to give her privacy but she still felt distinctly self-aware.

She could no longer tell if the near-permanent scowl on his face was because of her or something else entirely. However, when they returned to the basement, he drew her to him by the waist and kissed her neck.

"I'll be down later." he murmured, not really seeing her, before he left again. She stood there, at the top of the stairs for a while, her fingers touching the place on her neck where his lips had been. She could feel the rune from earlier beneath her fingertips. Her forehead creased and she lowered her hand, not knowing what she was doing.

Registering belatedly what he had said, she felt her insides knot in fear and she hurried down the steps, looking about her as if anticipating a weapon to materialise in front of her. He was going to do it again, have sex with her- rape her. And if it was anything like the way it had been in the bathroom- well, she didn't want a repeat of that ever again. She ran her hands through her birds nest of un-brushed curls and breathed out in frustration and panic. There was nothing down here that she could use against him- no matter how hard she yanked at them, the chained shackles wouldn't budge from their fixtures in the walls. Not that she'd be very good at wielding them as makeshift nunchakus.

All she had were her bare hands and feet and fighting him off would probably anger him and make things worse for herself regardless- especially considering how he'd lost his temper earlier. At least, she assumed that was him losing his temper- she'd almost cracked her skull open and died. But you never knew with her brother...

She paced a little, deliberating over her predicament, before eventually, though reluctantly resigning herself to lying down on the far side of the brass-framed bed, back against the wall and praying that it wasn't as bad this time.


	8. Chapter 8

Clary had finally slipped into sleep, her subconscious mind conjuring up the green hills outside Alicante and the blaze of the Glass City when the demons had torn through the streets, reaping blood and despair. But all too soon, her sleep was being disturbed and the vivid nightmare was snuffed out like a candle.

She jolted, hand clutching at her chest, which ached with the rapid beating of her heart. Her back was still against the wall across the double bed. She looked over to see her brother sitting on the edge of the bed and lifting his grey t-shirt up, his jeans already discarded on the floor. Since his back was to her and the dim light was still on and flickering as usual, she could clearly see the grotesque whip-scars that lined the lean contours of his back. She swallowed down the horror that always rose at the sight of them and looked down at her small freckled hand, resting on the pillow. It wasn't their appearance- their contrast against his otherwise flawless, runed skin- it was the way in which they'd come to be there that got to her, in such a personal way that she couldn't even begin to understand it. Unbidden, she found her eyes wandering back to them, as if they weren't already imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.

"Like what you see?" Jonathan said in a soft, but seemingly defensive tone.

"No." she answered quickly, her voice thick from the little sleep she'd had and her cheeks reddening at being caught staring; he glanced at her over his shoulder, his black eyes looking tired for a change. What had he been doing all day?

"You can look all you want." he told her as if granting her a wish. At least he was back to his 'normal' self, more or less. He crawled across the mattress until he was lying on his side, facing her. There was a thin strip of air separating them, the redhead couldn't help but notice.

"You were pretty...mad, earlier." she mumbled in a careful tone, emerald eyes locked with his. His sharp features softened as he reached out to caress her cheek; she held still, preventing herself from shrinking away from his touch, not that she could with her back up against the wall. "How haven't you killed me yet?"

"I regret treating you as I did in the bathroom," he admitted after a pause, ignoring her question. "And I'm going to make it up to you,"

"What do you mean-?" she replied, fear flashing in her green gems as her brother moved to situate himself between her legs and peal her teal dress off over her head. Clary leaned up on her elbows hastily as the dress was tossed aside and the white-blond proceeded to drag her lacy black thong down her legs with his teeth.

"Don't struggle, Clary. I'm here to pleasure you," he told her, looking up at her from under his lashes and stroking her tummy in a calming motion. She didn't like the sound of that one bit, but he was gazing at her with such intense affection through his weariness and she was too worn out to put up any kind of resistance. "I'm going to make it all better," he promised and before she could respond, he spread her legs a little more, grasped her waist with both of his artistic hands and went down on her. The redhead started in shock, her palm covering her mouth as she felt her brothers lovely lips and tongue sucking at her; his eyes were closed and feverish colour had risen on his cheekbones.

She wanted to tell him to stop, but his mouth was like velvet and his tongue was swirling in and out of her entrance in such a maddening way that she sensed herself sinking back down onto the bed. This was wrong- _so_ wrong- on too many levels to count; it should've been Jace doing this to her, making her come apart at the seams with a single flick of his tongue. But it wasn't, it was Jonathan. And he was making it impossible for her to be repulsed by his touch- making her forget why she _should_ be repulsed by his touch.

She stared up at the ceiling as she registered her hands unclasp her bra and pull it off, before taking his hands and sliding them up her flushed body and onto her breasts. He released a throaty moan in response that the redhead felt in every fibre of her being. He started to rub and squeeze at her breasts without instruction, thumbs brushing back and forth over her nipples and her fingertips trailed down his arms of their own volition, tugging provocatively at his white locks.

Eventually, his tongue went to work on her clitoris and her pelvis bucked. Her body and mind had split into two entities: her body wanted her brother to dominate her the way he had the previous night, but her mind was elsewhere, abandoned in the woods like Hansel and Gretel. Except she was alone- her brothers body and soul had been handed over to the witch, on a silver platter before he was born. She forced herself to release her grip in his hair and her arms fell to the bed either side of her.

She turned her face to stare at the wall when her hips jerked again and she came, biting down on the moans and cries that begged to be let out into the humid air, so hard that she broke the skin of her lip. Her brother continued lapping at her for a minute afterwards and she daren't look or else have the sight of him licking her clean of her cum forever burned into her memory.

"Are you done?" she said in a clipped, but haggard voice. She kept her eyes trained on the wall, knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Was it not to your liking?" he responded, all dark humour as he climbed up her body. "Hungry for the main course?" she looked at him then, her disgust draining into helplessness. His face was so close that their noses were touching.

"How can you be so beautiful and then..." she trailed off, shaking her head and looking into the black holes that were his eyes.

"You think me beautiful?" his grin was devilish as he arched an eyebrow up at her.

"You know you are, Jonathan." she returned as she traced his cheekbone with a finger, her forehead creasing. "Its your mask; the most deceptive of them all."

"You know the 'hows' and the 'whys', Clarissa," he sighed, going back to her original question, his face serene. "I want you. I will always want you. It cant be helped." his voice had dropped to a whisper and he gave her a look that seemed to say 'there are some things that cant be explained'. She wasn't so sure she agreed with that, but she relented, not having the energy or will for it.

"Get on with it."

"Must you treat our intimate relationship as a business transaction?" he chided, but when she said nothing, merely shifting her gaze to the ceiling, his attention moved to the act of pushing his boxers down slightly over his thighs. He wrapped his hand around his erect penis and pumped it a couple of times, his eyes fixed on her weeping hole, sizzling with lust. Clary, who had glanced at him involuntarily, was beginning to question whether his resonating desire was contagious. How could he reduce her to this state so easily? Was it her weakness? Or his strength?

He was guiding his dick to her entrance- not bothering to take his boxers off properly- and she found herself transfixed, returning his onyx gaze and watching the change in his features as he pushed inside her. She gasped, squirming a bit; his mouth had been soothing against the soreness, but she didn't think she would ever get used to the size of his manhood. He folded his arms under her neck, hugging her shoulders to him and buried his face in her hair. The redhead lay there, waiting for it all to be over as her brother started moving against her.

He was deliberately slow and gentle this time but firm, always firm and it made her toes curl as her feet hooked around his lower back. She could feel and hear his breathing against her neck, hitching with each thrust and she knew that it probably took him a world of restraint to keep up this slow, sensual rhythm, rather than take her fast and passionately. She wondered for the umpteenth time, what exactly was going on in her brothers head; he seemed to be going to so much effort to be 'good'- to be nice to her and kind and thoughtful. She was entirely under his control; he could do anything to her, treat her any way he liked and yet he was actively behaving as though she really were a guest here- excluding the rape and being locked up in the basement. Was he truly planning on keeping her here forever?

Her arms were still flat on the bed but she was gasping and panting audibly, her hips rising to meet his. Beads of sweat were gliding off his body to mingle with hers and soil the bed-sheet, but neither cared at the moment. Jonathan picked up speed suddenly, his heavy breathing in her ear sending shudders through her limbs. Clary arched into him- she couldn't stop herself. It was as if her body had grown a mind of its own. She didn't cry out when she reached her peak for the second time, clamping her teeth down on her tongue painfully, instead. However, her left hand bunched in his silky, sweat-dampened hair while the other gripped his upper arm, her nails digging in. One more jerk of her brothers hips and he unloaded in her, stifling a deep groan in her shoulder.

Clary let go of her hold on him, arms falling limply by her sides again and closed her eyes. She mentally chastised herself, horribly ashamed. She'd accused him of treating her like a whore and yet here she was, acting just like one. If you acted that way, of course people would treat you as such. Why had she let this happen? She wasn't even chained up! She was free to fight back with all her might and yet she hadn't, even worse, she'd succumbed to her brothers wiles.

She didn't realise she'd been repeating the question "Why?" until Jonathan answered her, raising his head to look her in the eye. His gaze was impossibly dark and unrepentant.

"Because you are mine."


	9. Chapter 9

Clary awoke from a strange dream in which she'd been standing in the infirmary back at the Institute, with Jace; he'd stared at her with wide hurt eyes and repeated the question 'How could you do this to us?' over and over.

Her eyes were watery and she swiped at them roughly. She rolled over and almost jumped out of her skin as she came face to face with Jonathan. He was asleep, his mouth open slightly and his breathing steady, although maybe a little quick. She stared at him for a moment as if she was scared he wasn't really asleep and hoping that if he was, he wouldn't wake up- ever. She studied his sharp features, a lump in her throat and her muscles tensed up. He looked docile, his face smooth and clear of any scowl lines or sadistic quirks of his lips.

With a muted sigh, the redhead sat up. She was trapped between her brother and the wall so she carefully crawled to the foot of the bed and climbed over the brass frame. She found the teal dress from the previous day on the floor next to the white-blonds clothes. She didn't bother with the black lacy underwear, merely donned the tight dress and cautiously approached the basement door. She stood at the bottom of the stone steps and sent her brothers still form an anxious glance. He'd told her it locked from the outside and if he was down here with her- and they were the only ones here- then the door should open. Unless Jonathan had lied. But there was only one way to find out and that risked her brothers wrath.

She teetered, sweating with the fearful race of her heart. She was being a coward. Swiftly squaring her shoulders and clenching her teeth, she lifted her foot for the first step.

"Clary?" she froze at the sound of her brothers voice. "Where did you go?" the person in question closed her eyes in exasperation, moving back over to the double bed, where Jonathan lay in the same position she'd left him in.

"I didn't go anywhere- I'm here," she answered hastily, hovering by the bed and trying not to look at his ruined back.

"I couldn't find you..." he whispered, his voice trailing off. He was still asleep. Or putting it on...

"I'm here..." Clary said again, hesitantly putting her hand on his arm.

"My scarf." he said, his hand twitching where it rested on the pillow. She frowned faintly, looking about herself as though she expected one to materialise. "It smelled of you afterwards..." he breathed and she jerked, taking her hand back. He was dreaming about their 'day out' in Paris...? She shuddered, picturing him putting the soft scarf to his face and inhaling her scent as she mentally fought against a wave of vertigo.

"Jonathan?" she began, putting her hand back on his arm lightly. "What were you doing yesterday?" she held her breath, her heart pounding in her ears as she awaited his answer. But no answer came. Abruptly, her brothers eyes opened and he turned onto his back, quirking an eyebrow up at her. For a moment, the redhead thought she'd been caught and stepped back and away from his impenetrable gaze.

"What are you up to, Clarissa?" he asked, sitting up and yawning. He looked calm- oblivious, almost.

"Nothing." she answered quickly, bravely perching on the bed beside him and attempting to act natural. He gave her a weird look and then smiled crookedly at her, rubbing his hand up and down her thigh. Forcing down the urge to throw up, she smiled up at him and moved his hand beneath her dress without releasing it from her grasp, so that she could keep it still. _Two can play at that game_, she thought. He looked at her knowingly and leaned down to kiss her cheek, before getting off the bed. Remaining in his boxers, he gathered up the rest of their dirty clothes in his arms and glanced at her.

"Shall we?" he nodded to the door and then started for it, not waiting to see if she was following. She jumped up from the bed and half-ran to catch up with him. The door had been open, after all. Jonathan lead her down the hallway, only looking behind once to make sure she hadn't made a run for it. Not that she knew the way out of this place. She took her time, feet padding against the wooden floor and glanced into the two rooms whose doors were slightly ajar as she passed them. She glimpsed a fridge through the first one, nearest the basement door and after passing the closed one in the middle, she noted a fancy table and chairs in the third. The mysterious door in the middle of the hall undoubtedly lead to the rest of the house, she concluded.

She briefly considered whether the house was anything like Valentine's apartment, in that its front door shifted between intangible and tangible at the twist of a ring. She supposed it must be, since no one had tracked either of them down. Or had someone...? She remembered the night before, her brothers introvert behaviour and grazed knuckles.

He was waiting for her at the top of the staircase as she mounted it, using the banister to propel her sore limbs up.

"You know, its only a matter of time before Jace and the others find us." the redhead remarked as they entered the bedroom and her brother dumped their clothes unceremoniously by the wardrobe.

"They may find us," he agreed, unfazed. "But they'll never get to us." Clary regarded him quietly in confusion, but he wasn't at liberty to provide an explanation and so he simply moved the broken bathroom door to allow her access and leant it back in place once she was inside.

As she stood brushing her teeth a minute later, staring glumly into the mirror, she entertained the idea of seducing her brother in the bedroom. She could wait for him to fall asleep and then look for his stele; she'd decided that drawing a portal was too risky because of the time it took, but she could send Jace and the others a message. However, as of right now, all she could tell them was that she was alive and she might not get more than one chance at it. She needed more information before she could do anything. And that meant being a good girl for her brother and playing along with his twisted little game of happy families.

Jonathan edged into the room as she began rinsing out her mouth and lifted the toilet seat, proceeding to urinate into the bowl.

"Hey-" the redhead glared at him, turning beetroot as he released a low sigh and tilted his head back. She spun away when he flushed the toilet and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. His arm bumped hers and she slipped passed him to the exit.

"Run a bath, would you?" he called out just as she was about to move the door aside. "I thought we could bathe together before breakfast. You certainly need it," she rolled her eyes half-heartedly but he was already busy squeezing minty paste onto his toothbrush. Silently she plugged the tub and started the water running, pouring in some of the citrus shower gel that was sat on the edge. She boosted herself up onto the counter beside the sink, resisting the urge to get straight into the bath before it had finished filling.

She watched her brother clean his teeth in a methodical kind of precision, the fingers of his free hand drumming against the counter. When he switched to his top row, the beat of his fingers reversed so that his pinky tapped the surface first and his thumb tapped it last. Splitting a glance between him and his hand, the redhead acted spontaneously and clamped down on his fingers. Jonathan blinked and looked at her, his toothbrush frozen on his teeth. He frowned, leaning down to spit in the sink.

"What was that for?" he demanded, pouting sulkily. Clary just shook her head, laughing a bit and leapt off the counter to turn off the bath taps. "Its a good thing I don't have OCD," he commented in a dark tone, begrudgingly rinsing his toothbrush and placing it in the cup that Clary's sat in, before washing his mouth out.

"I was hoping you did." she admitted, smirking slightly at the look he sent her. "I'm kinda surprised. You can be so particular about things- plan something out to the final detail- and then stop halfway through with another idea in mind. You're like Valentine and not like him at the same time, its...baffling."

"In which case, I suppose he succeeded in what he wanted me to be," he replied, his eyes as unfathomable as ever. "Well, except for one minor detail,"

"What?" the redhead asked in a small voice.

"A weapon is a weapon. A tool that is used by someone to their own ends; it cant be anything else," his voice was soft, matter of fact, but a muscle jumped in his jaw, belying something lurking underneath. "However, I have a mind- I have wants, needs- and if our father was half as clever as he claimed to be, he would have spent his time beating the insolence _out_ of me, instead of _in_to me. That way, when he died I would have been rendered useless- no master, no orders to follow. Almost completely harmless. And not on the brink of destroying the world; Valentine didn't want the world to end, he wanted the opposite."

"Lilith would've taken his place." the redhead pointed out rather reluctantly. "In a way, she already has..."

"I don't think I would have been quite as interesting to her had I been merely an obedient puppet of Valentine's." he told her with a quick flick of his wrist, before moving to tug her dress off over her head and help her into the bath. She hadn't needed help, but she didn't say anything. She sat down, the heat of the water and the feel of it over her grimy, damaged skin loosening her muscles up and relieving her frail mind, even if just a little. Her brother took off his boxers and got in at the opposite end, facing her. She drew her knees up to her chest as he stretched his legs out on either side of her, arms running along the sides of the tub. She thought she heard him let out a hiss and glanced up to see his eyes shut and his lips twisted down at the corners.

"Is the water too hot?" she asked, automatically reaching behind her for the cold tap.

"No. Its fine," he replied mildly. She turned back to see that he had leant his head back in a picture of ease, but she noticed his white-knuckled grip on the sides and subconsciously hugged her legs tighter.

"Is something...wrong?" her voice was slightly strained.

"No. Its nothing," he answered more firmly, sitting up to look at her. Her gaze and mind slid towards his back then and her eyebrows furrowed.

"What you said about your back..." she began timidly, her freckled face heating up again but not out of embarrassment. "Were you telling the truth- that they hurt all the time?"

"Yes." his hands had loosened now, but there was a near unnoticeable tremor in them. Clary felt her heart pull at its mooring in her chest, but she ignored it.

"So much for baths being peaceful and relaxing." she attempted to joke, but her voice came out bleak.

"If we'd grown up together, we would have shared countless baths," the white-blond murmured, his gaze less sultry for once and more alight with wonder. The redhead evaded that subject entirely, her skin prickling uncomfortably.

"Why don't you use rescue cream or something?" she asked with a nervous shrug. Her brother stared at her as if she was either incredibly dense or speaking an alien language. "Its cream that you-"

"I can easily guess what is it," he cut in with a hint of sarcasm. "It could sooth them, dull the pain perhaps. But they're never going to heal."

"Of course not-"

"I've grown used to them," he went on, smiling at the look she gave him. "So much so that I forget they are there." he finished, running a hand through his ivory locks.

"Still, I think you should...tend to them better," the redhead said quietly, looking down at her knees. "Even if the pain never goes away."

"It would hardly make a difference now," he countered, though not unkindly. "I've born them for so long that I doubt my pain receptors- or my mind for that matter- would register any change in intensity."

"I guess." she responded non-committal, a thought teasing the edges of her mind and dancing away when she tried to get a hold on it. She shook her head as if to clear it and glanced back at her brother. He had reached over for the sponge on the side and dunked it in the water before putting a dollop of the citrus shower gel on it.

"Turn around," he ordered, eyes brighter than before and a carefree grin twitching up the corners of his mouth. It reminded her of when they'd first met, when he'd been impersonating Sebastian Verlac. "I'll do your back. And then you can do mine." Clary's belly did a nauseous flip at the last suggestion. The thought from earlier flitted around the walls of her mind again but just when she thought she'd grasped it, it dissipated.

Slowly, she nodded and did as she was told.


	10. Chapter 10

"Here,"

Clary glanced up as Jonathan came into the bathroom with a maroon towel in hand and a matching one wound around his waist. His and hers...Her fingers curled inwards a fraction but she flashed a smile up at him and held a hand out for the towel. Instead, he clasped her wrist gently in his free hand and began running the fluffy fabric up and down her arm.

"I'm not a kid, Jonathan," she sighed, putting her hand on his arm to stop his ministrations. "I'm not your baby sister who needs taking care of."

"I know that. You're a grown woman," he murmured with a tender smile, leaning down to nudge her nose with his, his palm warm on the milky skin below her right breast. "But I like to," His lips brushed against hers for a moment and she felt obliged to return the pressure. She felt him smile, before he pulled away and continued to towel-dry her.

The redhead felt strange- the kiss had been strange. She'd come to the assumption that to her brother, kissing was a necessary stepping stone to sex and yet he had kissed her without any pre-conceived agenda or motive. The memory sprung to mind of his arms around her in Valentine's apartment and Jace commenting that Sebastian didn't do hugging. She almost preferred it when he reserved kissing for sex; she didn't like the idea of being the only person in the world that her brother treated this way, as if she was 'special' in his eyes. She wasn't sure whether the chill down her spine was due to the water dripping from her curls or something else.

"Can you even cook?" she asked, her stomach tight with hunger and her mouth dry from lack of thirst.

"Not well, but I know the basics," he responded as he wrapped the towel around her and folded the corner over at the top, fingers briefly lingering on her cleavage. "I didn't have servants growing up. I had to do everything myself," Clary returned his black gaze weakly, seeing nothing but sincerity there. But hadn't Jace mentioned servants when he'd talked of his childhood?

"Didn't Valentine cook for you...?" even as she spoke, she was overwhelmed by the surrealism of it; she couldn't imagine their father standing at a stove and slaving away over a stew. But she could see him standing around with a glass of white wine in hand, maybe even attempting to help out and getting under her mothers feet in the process. She shook her head briskly, trying to rid herself of unwanted thoughts.

"Perhaps when I was very little. But I don't remember a single time when me and Valentine sat down to a meal together," Jonathan sounded oddly wistful as he smiled down at her, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I do however, remember sitting down with him in the evening, over glasses of wine; sometimes we discussed his plans, but mostly he would speak of his opinions and ideas in regards to the Shadowhunter world and the Clave. And I would listen, believing and agreeing with every word. Until I was granted liberty from my isolation and let loose into the wild; it didn't take long for me to realise that Valentine was utterly out of his mind.  
Despite knowing that his hope of becoming the next Jonathan Shadowhunter was pure insanity and would never come to be, I wasn't going to stand in his way. I let him follow where his dream lead him, even though I knew he would meet his own death at the end of it. Do you think me heartless now, beloved Sister?"

Having trouble processing everything he'd said, the redhead hugged her elbows and edged past her brother into the bedroom, opening the large wardrobe with shaky hands. "So, what are we going to eat? I don't like eggs- but you already know that," she was babbling, so she attempted to focus on pushing aside the boys clothes to get to the girls clothes; the hangers screeched against the metal bar they were hooked on. "You have cereal, right? I'm sure I can manage with pouring milk-"

"You've thought me heartless from the moment you found out I killed the little Lightwood boy, haven't you?" Clary's hands paused on the fancy dresses she'd been looking through and she shut her eyes. Jonathan was right behind her, leaning down slightly so that his mouth hovered by her left ear. "I suppose Jocelyn cooked and fed you growing up. I bet she coddled you. Did she dote on you, little Sister?"

"Its obvious where this is going," the redhead retorted sourly, spinning around to face him and clutching the top of her towel both for support and to make sure it didn't come loose. "_Everyone_ must feel sorry for _Jonathan Morgenstern_: he was raised by a tyrant and his mother 'abandoned' him, saving all her love for his sister- _all_ valid reasons to justify killing innocent people and tearing down the world." her voice had dripped perfectly acidic sarcasm, but when she finished and sucked in a much needed breath, she clamped down on her tongue and hoped she didn't regret ever opening her mouth.

"How cruel," the white-blond muttered, his onyx eyes glazing over as though he couldn't figure out how to react. And then his hand grasped the back of her neck and he brought his mouth down on hers roughly. Immediately, she started beating at his torso and clawing at his hand, trying to get him off her. His mouth was like steel against hers, as if he was attempting to suffocate her or consume her, or both. She braced her palms on his chest and bit down as savagely as she could on his bottom lip. Unfortunately the sound he produced in response was a far cry from pain.

He let up an inch and she saw that his lip was bleeding, the red vivid against his snowy complexion. "Do that again, _harder_." his expression was deadly serious but his eyes were smouldering with excitement. His mouth was insistent on hers, prying her lips apart with his tongue; she could taste his blood and it had a bitter tang to it. She stopped struggling eventually and concentrated on his face, watching his eyelids flutter every so often.

They were more inhaling and exhaling into each other now with their accelerated heartbeats in sync, rather than kissing. Her brothers tongue merely prodded at hers as though willing it to dance with his. She reached up to cup his face and pressed three slow, simple kisses to his lips and then pushed him away. As she'd expected, he didn't resist, only stood fingering the sore cut on his bottom lip with a placid look on his face.

She turned back to the wardrobe, trembling faintly and took out the first thing her hands landed on. It was a black pin-striped shirt of Jonathan's. She swiftly dropped her maroon towel and slid her arms into the sleeves, buttoning it with clumsy fingers. It was baggy and stopped just below her bum. Without a glance in her brothers direction, she hurried to the bedroom door and through it.

"There's no point running, Clarissa," she heard her brother call as she flew down the stairs. Apprehension gripped her throat at his nonchalant tone, but she didn't stop, darting down the hall and through the door in the middle. Four more steps of hallway and then it opened out into the front of the house, an office space to the right, a lounge area to the left and the front door straight ahead. There was a front door! She slowed as she approached it, glancing through the vertical strips of window either side of it. All she saw was lush green grass. She heard the white-blond moving about above her, still in the bedroom.

_Isn't__ he going to stop me?_ The noose of apprehension around her neck tightened, but she clasped the brass doorknob and twisted it. The door opened easily out onto a sand-coloured brick porch. Looking behind her once to see that her brother hadn't appeared, she stepped outside, not bothering to close the door. If he did pursue her, a wooden door wasn't going to stop him- he'd probably use it to his advantage, like break it off its hinges and throw it at her. At least, that was what she would do.

She skipped down the four steps, off the porch and onto a dusty stone path that lead to the pavement and was bordered by grass. There was no breeze or gust of wind whatsoever and the stillness of the air unnerved the redhead; it was no wonder that the house was so stuffy. Nevertheless, she broke into a sprint towards the road as if she anticipated a car to come cruising along it any second.

Just before her foot hit the pavement, an electric current coursed through it and up her body, sending her backwards and hurling through the air. She landed on the grass to the left of the house, rolling a few times before she fell motionless. She coughed, gasping for oxygen as she tried to haul herself upright. The skin of her face and body were scored with burns here and there; her brothers shirt had rips and tears that sizzled with tiny dark clouds rising from them. Another cough racked her frame and Clary fisted the earth with her hands in an attempt to stall the tears stinging her eyes.

"You can try again if you like. Though you wont get through," she looked up to see Jonathan looking down at her, leaning on the low wall that ran around the porch, with his chin cradled in his palm.

"Just help me back inside..." she muttered, her voice raspy as she rubbed the dirt off her hands. She noticed absently that there were no other houses or buildings anywhere in sight around them, only vast, empty expanses of grass. _Perfect._

Jonathan had shrugged and jogged down the steps, coming round to where she was sprawled. He was dressed in a snug, black tank top and grey sweatpants as if he were planning on having a workout, although there was no training or exercise room in the house. Then again, a workout for her brother was probably a hundred push-ups, a hundred sit-ups and a ten mile run. She mentally shuddered at the thought- she could barely do ten push-ups, let alone a hundred.

She snapped out of her reverie as she sensed him swing her up into his arms. He was bare foot again, she saw, wondering if he had a thing about not wearing socks or shoes. She let her head lull against him and closed her eyes, feeling like she'd just been repeatedly run over by a truck.

"What was that?" she breathed, swallowing sharply.

"Our security system," the white-blond replied peaceably as he carried her over the threshold. "Its a force-field; it repels any and all physical contact," he settled her down on a chocolate brown leather sofa and moved to close the front door.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she asked him dryly, pushing the shirt sleeves up to her elbows and folding the cuffs over.

"Some things are best learned the hard way; there's more of an impact," he answered, sitting on the wooden coffee table opposite her. "Besides, even if I'd told you, you would have tested it out anyway because you don't trust me. That, and you're the type of person who would ask about the danger of playing with fire, to then go and do it to see if it truly burned."

"You're right. I would've tried it either way." she admitted begrudgingly as he leant forward, resting his elbows on his legs. An ivory lock fell across his face, lying between his eyes and she felt an alien impulse to brush it out of the way.

"There's more: I wanted you to stop _wanting_ to escape, not accept that escaping is impossible," he breathed out through his nose, running a hand through his hair and the redhead found herself fiddling with a corner of the shirt she was wearing, not knowing what to say. Of course that's why he hadn't told her- he didn't want her to be his prisoner, he wanted her to _want_ to stay here with him. He wanted her to be his partner. But she was his sister and she wanted nothing but to escape or kill him- preferably both. He glanced towards the wall where there were stylish metal numbers- one through twelve- nailed in a circle with second, minute and hour hands fixed in the centre and telling the time; ten past twelve.

"I guess we wont be having breakfast, again." the redhead remarked in an attempt to relieve the tension in the atmosphere, but her voice came out toneless. Her brother stood up and offered her his hand.

"I'll go out and buy something for lunch," there was a ghost of a smirk on his face as she accepted his hand and he drew her back through the hallway and down into the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, Clary gripped his hand as he was about to pull it back.

"Can I eat with you upstairs when you get back? Please?" she watched as his angular features softened; she was getting used to the subtle and minor changes in his expression- almost as if she were getting better at reading him- but when his face softened like this, it was the only time she felt real, bone-deep relief in this precarious situation. Whether it was a façade or not, it meant that she was in his good books and she needed to stay there indefinitely, now that she knew she had nowhere to run.

"I'll consider it," was all he said before pecking her on the lips- which she hastily reciprocated- and leaving with a secretive smirk on his face. Somehow she knew that he didn't need to consider it, that he had already decided. She allowed herself a triumphant smile, just this once.


	11. Chapter 11

Jonathan wasn't gone long; Clary was alerted to his arrival by the creak of floorboards above her head. She had been curled up on the sweat-stained double bed, idly picking at her brother's pinstriped shirt and trying to block out the sore burns dotting her face and body. She got up and wandered over to the stairs as the door opened and her brother appeared in the doorway.

"Ladies first," he smirked, holding the door open with his body and gesturing for her to go through with an elaborate sweep of his arm. The redhead resisted the urge to roll her eyes and sensed her mouth start to lift into a smile. She swiftly caught herself and hurried up the stairs, sidling past him and into the hallway.

"Where to?" she asked, going for casual. As she was about to turn towards him, she jumped at the feel of his hand on the small of her back; her heartbeat spiked, inducing dizziness from lack of food.

"Kitchen," he answered, guiding her to the first door on their left. She stepped away from his possessive hand and went into the room. Inside, she found white, partially-tiled walls and speckled grey linoleum. However, its contents was a lot more ordinary and basic than she'd expected, only heightening the contrast between this house and Valentine's. Counters with white and pale blue marble surfaces formed a right-angle from a shiny, white fridge-freezer on the left, to a simple, grey electric cooker with black notches and reflective metal handle bars, situated in the middle of the far wall. A white breakfast bar ran along the wall on the right with three tall, abstract black stools. On closer inspection, Clary found that both the bar and stools were nothing but hard plastic. There was no chrome or glass and hardly any black at all.

"This is...not very you." she almost laughed, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Would you have liked it if it was?" he replied with a knowing look; the redhead thought about it for a long moment before answering.

"I still don't really know you." she shrugged slightly, but she didn't feel as awkward as she usually would. "I don't know your tastes or favourites colours, whether you prefer extravagant over minimal..." she shrugged again, meeting his onyx gaze with her emerald one.

"And yet you say that this isn't me," he indicated the room, a spark of playful challenge in his eyes. She glanced around the room once more, trying to picture the way her brother might have liked it. "I suppose if it was a mirror-image of the kitchen in Father's moving apartment, you'd think it suited me,"

"Maybe if you'd designed this place for yourself instead of for me, it would've said more about you." she countered sardonically, giving him a look. "I cant stop judging you by Val- our fathers standards, if you don't show me..._you_- what you're really like, who you really are." he turned her to face him and placed his hands at the base of her neck, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there.

"I will only ever be the person you perceive me as," he told her in a soft voice, a bitter-sweet smile quirking up his plush lips.

"That's not true." the redhead shook her head firmly, although unease settled in her heart. "Everyone has their limitations but they have choices too. You can be whoever you wanna be- you must have likes and dislikes. Maybe they don't go any deeper than not liking eggs or liking wine, but its something. Just because you might not feel anything, doesn't mean you cant learn to, or remember how to..." she trailed off, not knowing herself, where she was going. Whether he 'learnt' how to be a normal, decent human being wasn't going to change anything, was it? At least, not in the Clave's eyes, or anyone else's...

His expression seemed to be stuck somewhere between disbelief, confusion and hope as they stared at each other. He was like a naive little boy, wanting desperately to believe in Santa Claus, despite being brought up knowing he isn't real. The redhead's forehead creased in anxiety. He was probably more pleased about the fact that she appeared to be warming to him, rather than anything she'd actually said, but she couldn't help but feel awful. She didn't know how or when it had happened, but she didn't want to lie to him, much less give him false hope- he was so broken already and she wasn't sure he even knew it. Maybe being siblings did count for something, in the end.

She broke out of her reverie and shoved away from him, turning her back and closing her eyes.

"What is it?" he sounded hurt and it made her want to run. She was beginning to wonder whether it was a blessing that he couldn't feel true emotions- every time he seemed genuine, it frightened her and she didn't know why. Perhaps she feared empathising with him. After all, that was probably the worst possible outcome of this situation, even more so if she got away. The more familiar they became with each other, the more she felt the connection they shared- like there was a cord tied between them, slowly becoming tangible. And how would she be able to bear his death, if she let him draw her in? She wanted it to be quick and easy, like it had been with Valentine- no regrets- but she could already see the differences and changes within her. Even if Shadowhunters swarmed the house this very second and killed him, it would affect her in some indefinable way, no matter how small.

"Clary...?" her eyes flew open at the proximity of his voice and she felt ice churn in her gut as his arms snaked around her waist from behind.

"Why are you doing this?" the words slipped off her tongue of their own volition as she stood stiffly in his embrace. She brought her hands up to her face, fighting the impulse to lean back and allow him to comfort her.

"You are so stubborn," he murmured as if to himself and tightened his arms around her, burying his face in her fiery hair. "You are perfect."

"I hate you." she whispered through her hands, but it was clear to both of them that the words were feeble.

"Why don't we put the hate on hold until after lunch?" her brother suggested in a soothing tone, raising his head. "Are you hungry?" she had to crane her neck slightly to look up at him; he lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, smiling down at her gently.

"Yeah." she admitted wearily, the burns from her run-in with the force-field earlier, returning to the forefront of her mind briefly. "Any chance of an iratze first?" Jonathan lightly fingered a patch of scorched skin on her cheek, before nodding.

"Anything for my darling Sister," he said fervently and Clary dropped her gaze, her muscles tensing up. "I bought you a subway. You can start without me," with that, he left the room.

The redhead breathed in and out a few times and then followed her nose to the subway bag sitting on the breakfast bar. She climbed onto the stool nearest the door and pulled the bag towards her; there were three sandwiches, she noted, but she only took out one, unwrapped it and bit it, not bothering to check what was in it. Her mouth was instantly full of soft bread and melted cheese and tomato sauce and juicy meatball; her tongue and stomach were in heaven.

"You'll make yourself sick if you eat too fast," her brother said in an amused tone, announcing his return. Clary swallowed sharply and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She had a mere three bites to go. Feeling self-conscious, she watched her brother hook the next stool with his foot and drag it closer to hers, before sitting down. He deftly rolled her sleeve further up her left arm and began tracing healing runes above the crease of her elbow with his stele.

"Thanks." she mumbled when he was done, looking down at her food.

"I bought you an extra one, since you haven't eaten much the past few days," he said, changing the subject and taking the two remaining sandwiches out of the bag. He placed one in front of her, before tucking into his own. They sat together in mutual silence and ate their lunch, their arms touching. When the redhead moved onto her second sub, she wordlessly parted it in half and offered one piece to her brother.

"I wont be able to eat it all." she said by way of explanation as he chewed and swallowed down his food, looking between her and the sandwich.

"You should try; you need it more than I do," he replied thoughtfully, taking another minute bite of his food.

"You don't eat much, do you?" Clary guessed with a mildly dubious expression. "If you didn't have muscle, you'd be skin and bones. I bet an average meal for you is a meagre portion of sushi." she wrinkled her nose, the thought making her hungrier than she'd previously been.

"You're being over-dramatic. And I've never eaten sushi," the white-blond smirked sideways at her. "Besides, I have a fast metabolism- I cant help it,"

"I wish I had a fast metabolism." the redhead said, scowling a little in jealousy; Jonathan released a low chuckle, grinning devilishly when she shot him a green-eyed glare in response.

"Go on," he prompted then, nodding to the halves in her hands. "Eat as much as you can,"

"Are you trying to fatten me up?" the redhead questioned, highly suspicious.

"So I can eat you?" he returned, biting back a laugh at her expression. "That would be a horrible waste. And it may shock you to hear, but I'm not into cannibalism," Clary automatically bumped his shoulder with hers, like she would with Simon. She glanced quickly up at his smirking face and then down at her hands, frowning. Her stomach knotted at the thought of her best friend, causing a wave of nausea to roll over her.

"Here," she placed the sandwich half on the foil wrapper in front of him, before he could protest. "I don't feel too good. I'll puke if I eat it all." her brother's fine eyebrows furrowed in concern and his dark eyes scanned her features.

"Do you need a drink- water?" he inquired, raising the back of his hand to her forehead to check her temperature.

"Yeah. Please." the redhead nodded briskly, wanting some space to breathe, even if for just a few seconds. Jonathan got up and went over to the counters, bending down to retrieve a glass from a cupboard, before filling it with cold water at the sink. The redhead gripped the edge of the bar, shutting her eyes for a moment to steady herself.

The pull to see Simon here and now was almost painful, but the person she wanted to see more than anyone else was her mother. It was as though their roles had been reversed; first Jocelyn had been taken by Valentine and now she was being held captive by Jonathan. She'd never thought of her family as dysfunctional before- there had only been herself, her mum and Luke. But aside from Luke being the most loving father she could've wished for, it had all been a lie. And her real- blood related- family completely surpassed dysfunctional.

She'd wanted to go back to how it was before the night at Pandemonium, when Valentine had told her Jace was her brother, but if she'd gotten what she wanted then, she would've regretted it. However, being here, in this prison with her true brother- with beautiful, impure, demonic Jonathan- she knew that if she were teleported back in time to before everything had changed, she wouldn't step foot in that club. She would stay in her bubble with her mum and Luke and Simon.

A hand landed on the back of her neck and she looked up to see her brother with a glass in hand. He handed it to her and she grasped it, gulping it all down in one go. Jonathan was rubbing her back and she felt her eyes prick with tears as he leant down to kiss her temple. She grit her teeth to ward off the tears- she'd been through what most would consider hell, but there is a time when you have to stop crying and move on. And the redhead had reached that. Nevertheless, she was emotionally exhausted and she had decided that the less time spent with her brother, the better.

"I'm going to go lie down." she told him quietly as he wound one of her curls around his finger. "After I've finished." she added, biting into her sandwich and tearing off a large piece, chewing furiously.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked softly, lifting the curl to his nose and inhaling.

"No, that's okay." she tried not to sound rude, but her words came out a bit rushed. "You'll be bored."

"I doubt that," he disagreed, unfazed. But he didn't press the issue. "You'll have dinner with me tonight though, wont you?" It wasn't really a question.

"Yeah, sure." the redhead said anyway, once she'd swallowed the last of her sub.

"Good." he sounded pleased and she glanced up to see that his angular features were alight with content. Before she had time to react, he licked his thumb and wiped at the corners of her mouth affectionately, cleaning away the remnants of tomato sauce. She felt ill.

"Thanks." she said, forcing a smile as she slid off her stool and headed to the kitchen door.

"You can sleep in our- the bed upstairs if you want..." her brother said suddenly as she opened the door. She pretended that he hadn't been close to calling it _their_ bed and looked back at him.

"That's okay. I'm used to the basement." she replied with a shrug; she caught the look of disappointment that passed over his face, before she left.

* * *

**_Sorry for the delay! :P_**


	12. Chapter 12

Jonathan had been lying on the bed in the basement, watching Clary sleep for some time now. It had been around three o'clock when he'd gotten fed up with watching the clock in the lounge area and got up to make his way downstairs, dropping the book he hadn't been reading on the wooden coffee table.

He'd gotten changed a couple times before he'd resigned himself to the comfort of one of the brown leather sofas in the main part of the house. He wore a deep purple shirt, open at the neck with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; it lay un-tucked over black jeans. He was barefoot as he preferred to be, even without the long lush blades of Idris grass and smooth soil beneath them. A memory had flitted to his mind of when he was a child and would throw himself onto the ground and go tumbling down the hills outside the forest that enclosed his then home. Valentine would always give him five raps across the knuckles for coming home covered in filth, but it had been fun and he'd had little else to fill his free-time with, which had been limited anyway.

He was lying on his side, propped up on his elbow and leaning over his sister, studying her sleeping face. She was on her back and her unkempt hair was like wildfire, splayed all over the pillow. He wanted to cut off one of her curls for safe-keeping, but he didn't have a knife or scissors on him and if he left to find a pair, she might wake up. He'd have to do it another time. She rolled over as if sensing him and buried her face in his chest, one of her hands clutching at his shirt. His heartbeat stuttered and then continued racing as it always did in Clary's presence.

She was still asleep but she had subconsciously clung to him, murmuring incoherently. He lay down properly, resting his head on the pillow and looked down at her. As carefully as was possible, he coaxed her chin up with the crook of his finger so that he could see her freckled face.

"Jace..." she breathed, eyelids fluttering. Jonathan's expression immediately turned sour, his dark eyes narrowing. Blood roared in his ears as he worked on smothering the rising anger and unmistakable jealousy, like he'd been taught to. He disentangled himself from her grasp and sat up, swinging his legs over the side and leaning forward on them with his arms. Of course she was dreaming of _him_.

"Ngh...oh. Jonathan."

"Did you have a nice sleep?" even if she'd heard the bitter edge to his voice, it would've been lost on her.

"I guess so-"

"I'll get dinner ready," he said abruptly, pushing up off the bed and striding towards the stairs.

"Are you cooking?" she asked, failing to hide her surprise at the notion; he paused and spared her a glance out of the corner of his eye. She was hovering a few feet away from him, looking unsure in response to his behaviour. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she remembered no one but him. He smirked even though his blood was boiling in his veins.

"No. No, we'll have takeaway I think," he told her, conjuring an aloof air about him. "Chinese good? Good. I'm glad we're on the same page." he let the last sentence linger, staring at her with meaning clear in his eyes. She nodded in understanding. The white-blond jogged up the stone steps two at a time and closed the door behind him, although he didn't lock it.

He went a few paces down the hallway before he stopped and pounded his fist once against the wall. After a long moment, the seething within him receded and he recovered himself, needlessly straightening his shirt. He had been patient with her and considerate and careful when he'd wanted to be and yet she still refused to forget those people. Refused to give in to him. He thought he'd been making progress back when they'd been living in their fathers apartment, but even he had to admit he'd gotten a little carried away on the night of the ceremony. Of course they were back to square one. She was so strong, so _stubborn_. So like him. He sensed his lips quirk up at the corners as though he no longer had control over them. He cleared his features- what use was a smile when there was no one around to deceive and manipulate with it?

Since he was was calm again, he didn't miss the quick tingle of his nerves. He turned to look at the basement door quietly, hesitating only a second before approaching it with soundless footsteps. He could feel her on the other side, deliberating over whether to try the handle or not. Without thinking, he raised his hand to press his palm against the wooden surface. She'd always felt alive with intense energy to him, like she was bursting at the seams; he recognised it in himself, but it wasn't the same. Her energy was un-tempered and celestial, whereas his was...

He leant his forehead on the door next to his hand and closed his eyes, sensing her retreat. Had she known he was there- had she felt him too? Was that why she'd moved away...? When was she going to stop running? He should be the person she ran to for safety. Not Angel Boy- not anyone else. Wasn't it a brothers duty to protect his sister? Jonathan didn't know, but it seemed right, proper. It felt right that he should look after her and keep her safe, ignorant even. From his perspective, ignorance really _was_ bliss. And all the rest was merely a result and proof of his corroded soul and corrupted mind, but that felt right too. It felt good to touch her and how could good ever be bad? They were opposites that couldn't exist without each other- bad could never be good and vice versa.

The night he'd claimed her virginity had been the most intimate, poignant event of his entire life; he'd _felt_ her in every possible way, all at the same time. Logic and harsh words beaten into his brain throughout the course of his childhood told him that it hadn't been real, only a figment of his imagination- a demon couldn't feel true emotions. But he was positive that he had done that night, regardless of whether he would ever again. Raping her in the bathroom had felt wrong- in fact, it was probably the only thing he'd ever done that had felt truly wrong. He'd wanted their father to materialise to scold him and beat him black and blue like the good old days, except this time he'd know he deserved it.

He still couldn't decide whether his masochistic side was funny or not, though he doubted that practised laughter would do the irony justice either way. He stepped back from the door and glanced towards the kitchen. After a split-second decision, he went in and examined the contents of the fridge. Milk, wine, bread, grated cheese, butter, bacon and two tubs of strawberries that he didn't fully recall buying. He bent down to look in the cupboard next door; there was a random assortment of snacks on the bottom shelf and on the top was a packet of spaghetti and another of penne pasta. Pasta and cheese, it would have to be.

He sighed, wondering about doing a thorough shop tomorrow- the more he thought about it, the better the idea of the redhead eating food he'd made especially himself became. He could easily get in a takeaway, but even now- in a place where they only had each other- he was having to contend with her so-called _friends_ and that Angel Boy who she was never going to see again. He'd have to make a lot more effort than he had been; it would be tough, but he knew what he wanted and he'd be damned a thousand times over if he didn't get it.

He took out the bag of penne and sat it on the counter next to the cooker, before retrieving a pot from the cupboard below. While he went to work on dinner, he thought about picking out a dress for his sister to wear, but he decided against it- his pinstriped shirt looked better on her than all the dresses in the world, let alone the ones upstairs. Later on when she took it off- or rather, he took it off her- he'd breathe in her scent and tuck it away at the back of the wardrobe.

At the image of her removing his shirt and baring her soft, yielding body, he felt his dick twitch and blood start to pool down there. He clamped down on further erotic thoughts that were teasing the edges of his mind, not having the time to deal with a hard-on and not wanting to have to go through the whole evening with one, until he could sort it. Sure, he'd be laying his feisty little redhead tonight, but he wanted everything leading up to it to go smoothly and that wouldn't happen if he had to continuously fight the need to fuck her against the nearest hard surface.

Lips parted, he blinked and yanked his hand out from below the waistband of his jeans, where it had crept. He went over to the sink and splashed cold water on his face until it felt numb and spent the remainder of the time, concentrating on holding the picture of his father in his head. Valentine's face acted as the best all-around barrier he knew of; he released a light chuckle, wondering if his father was in Hell, doomed to an eternity of burning alive. His sharp features tightened infinitesimally and his eyebrows pulled together. Would Valentine welcome his sons company when the time came? For a moment, Jonathan's chest ached so intensely that he had to grip the edge of the counter beside him. He didn't know what was wrong with him- was he upset? And if so, was it because of the thought of his father stranded in the deepest depths of Hell, or because of the fact that one day, he would join him?

He shut his eyes and began breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, emptying his mind until it resembled a blank sheet of paper. He'd been thinking too much lately and about things completely out of his hands. What _was_ in his hands at this moment in time was his sister's life. And that's all he had to focus on; that was his first priority and everything else was secondary. He took the two bowls of cheesy pasta he'd served through the hall and into the dining room at the end.

It was a simple room, although there wasn't much you could do to a dining room to lessen its naturally formal atmosphere; it wasn't too big and had only a mahogany table, which just passed into the status of rectangle and fitted two matching, high-backed chairs on either side. So he hadn't tried very hard to balance out the formal feel, but there were no chairs at the head and foot of the table and the walls were painted a kind of burnt orange, not too bright and not too heavy. The floor was of the same wooden slats as the hall.

Jonathan set down the food and cutlery next to each other on the left side. He went back into the kitchen to take a bottle of red wine out of the fridge and fill two thin-stemmed glasses. He carried them into the dining room and after shifting from foot to foot, went back for the bottle. He put it in front of his place so that he didn't give Clary the wrong impression and moved to fiddle with the light switch, adjusting it to full brightness only to change his mind and dim it. Becoming increasingly annoyed with himself, he finally set the light at medium- neutral- and it occurred to him that the food was getting cold. He shot down the hallway to the basement door, his bare feet slapping against the floor and poked his head around it with a nonchalant expression on his face.

"Feeding time,"

* * *

_**This was Jonathan-centric but there'll be more action next chapter ;)**_


	13. Chapter 13

The redhead sat up on the bed and glared at him, gradually rising to her feet. Jonathan's eyes followed her as she walked over and climbed the stairs; she seemed especially calculating this evening and he smirked in response, leaning back against the door frame so that she'd have to edge past him. Her shoulders tensed as she did so, but he saw the scarlet spreading across her cheeks. He walked behind her down the hall, eyeing her bare legs appreciatively and quirking an eyebrow up at her in feigned ignorance when she looked back at him. They entered the dining room and the white-blond moved to hold his sisters chair out for her.

"Mademoiselle," Clary glanced around them, before her eyes landed on the food and she sat down.

"Funny looking Chinese food." she commented dryly, biting her lip. Jonathan took his seat and gave her a side-glance.

"I changed my mind," he said simply, picking up his glass and tasting it.

"So you cooked this?" she clarified, regarding the food sceptically as she picked up her own glass.

"Yes," he bit back a laugh as he watched the redhead take a hefty gulp of her wine. "Don't worry, the only thing I sprinkled in it was salt,"

"That's reassuring." she muttered sarcastically; with an exaggerated sigh, he set his glass down, stabbed at a piece of pasta from her bowl with his fork and ate it.

"Satisfied?" he asked with raised eyebrows once he'd chewed and swallowed. "Although, I should warn you its slightly bland...and a bit chewy," he added, looking shrewdly down at his food. She hesitantly picked up her fork and tasted it.

"Didn't you have sauce or seasoning or something?" her tone was so serious as she drunk more of her wine, that the white-blond couldn't help a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Says the person who cant make toast," he smirked, black eyes laughing down at her.

"I can make toast." she said scathingly, her defiant emerald gaze sweeping to the right.

"Liar," Jonathan stated in amusement as he tucked in to his meal. He could feel her eyes sending him daggers, but he acted oblivious, shovelling pasta into his mouth.

"Thank you." his sister said after a while, breaking the mutual quiet. He looked at her, draining his wine. Her bowl was almost empty he was pleased to note. "You know, for cooking. I appreciate it..." she scooped out her bowl, chewing and swallowing, before chugging down the rest of her drink.

"I appreciate you saying that," even if it wasn't true. Jonathan smiled tentatively, refilling his glass.

"Can I...?" she began, looking at the bottle of red wine. He obliged and poured her another glass, before leaning back in his chair and nursing his own. "You didn't finish," she noticed as she sipped her drink.

"I think I made too much," he replied with a shrug, enjoying the feverish colour animating her face, due to the alcohol. "Do you want it?"

"Sure," she answered easily, pulling the bowl towards her and automatically picking up his fork to eat with. His own face felt warm, but not nearly enough.

"There are strawberries in the fridge," he told his sister when they were on their third glass of wine, the bowls stacked to the side. "We could melt some chocolate to go with them for desert," her features brightened as she smiled up at him, clearly tipsy.

"Lets do it," she nodded, swallowing down more wine and clumsily reaching for the bottle. Jonathan caught it before the redhead could spill it all over the table and tipped the remainder of it into her glass. "Its finished," she said, disappointed.

"Come on," he said, getting up with his glass. "There's more in the kitchen," his sister stood up eagerly, knocking back her drink again and moving towards the door, swaying slightly on her feet. He put his arm around her shoulders as they made their way down the hallway and she leaned against him, slinging an arm around his waist for support. Jonathan's mind kept wandering to the sacred cavern between his sisters legs, making his jeans incredibly tight in the crotch area, but part of him was still being slow and careful.

Clary boosted up onto the counter beside the cooker, Jonathan's black shirt riding up over her thighs as he broke squares of dark chocolate off into a glass bowl. He turned on the stove and put a little bit of water in a clean pot, before situating the bowl on top of it so that it was cradled and sat them on the cooker to heat. His sister had been happily munching on the strawberries from the tub he had dumped in her lap.

"Greedy," he chided, taking it from her grasp and sliding it across the counter, away from her reach. She pouted at him crossly, but he merely chuckled and pulled her to the edge of the counter so that her legs were either side of him; he rubbed his palms up and down her thighs, his body steadily simmering with desire. Clary bristled and bit her lip, looking away.

"I need a drink," she murmured, sounding uncertain. He sighed mutely and retrieved a bottle from the fridge, uncorking it expertly and filling their glasses. How drunk did she need to be to want him, he thought bitterly, flashing a smile as he handed her the drink. She drank it down in one go and he obediently refilled it at her prompt. He took a gulp of his own and checked on the chocolate in an attempt to distract himself from the throbbing in his pants. His movements were faintly languid as he turned off the stove and took the bowl of melted chocolate to the counter beside the redhead.

She put down her empty glass and stuck her finger into the gooey substance. She instantly yelped and started blowing and sucking on it to soothe it. Jonathan brought over the strawberries and dipped one in the chocolate. He lifted it to Clary's lips, his expression expectant. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, but she leaned forward and took a bite; the white-blond watched her lips, thinking about how mind-blowing they would feel wrapped around his rigid dick. Chocolate trickled from the corner of her mouth and he instinctively licked it off with his tongue, revelling in both the taste and the action. His sister made a noise of surprise and then started giggling, bracing her hands on his chest as if to push him away but she didn't. He nudged his nose along her jaw, the need to be inside her near unbearable.

The air was so hot and tense that he felt like they were on fire. "Clary..."

"Here," he raised his head, his breathing laboured and his onyx eyes hooded with lust. She was holding up a chocolate-dripping strawberry, her wide green eyes unguarded and a lopsided grin on her face. He bit it, pink juice running down his chin and his gaze locked on hers intently. Her lips were parted, a partly amazed look in her eyes.

"What?" he whispered, licking his lips as his fingers stroked her thighs, creeping higher every second.

"We have the same teeth," she giggled around another strawberry, shaking her head and tugging playfully at one of his ivory locks. He grinned at her, his gaze dark and heavy. It seemed to dawn on her what was to happen next, but she was hardly in the right frame of mind to be mature or adamant about it. "No. Bad Jonathan," she said in a reprimanding tone, hitting his shoulder.

"What did I do?" he demanded, faux-incredulously even as he proceeded to duck his head to suck and pull at the side of her neck.

"Not this again. You have to stop," her begging was half-hearted and he wouldn't have listened either way- he needed her _right now_. "J, we cant, we're not supposed to..."

"We've done it before," he pointed out, his voice husky as he slipped his left hand between her legs and probed at her entrance. She was a lot wetter than he'd expected her to be and it made his penis jolt in excitement.

"What would our parents say?" his sister breathed weakly, squirming and moaning under his touch. "J, we're not allowed..." he belatedly registered the nickname she had adopted for him and his mind briefly went back to when he was little and their father had referred to him in the same way.

"If Father was here now, his face would be priceless," he mumbled thoughtfully, lifting his head to look at her as he pushed his finger inside her. She gasped at the sensation, her eyelids fluttering.

"No...this isn't right-"

"Don't say that!" his voice was low, but forceful and he started pumping his finger in and out of her rapidly, monitoring her features; her hands curled into his shoulders and she panted as though she was desperately running away from something.

"We're not allowed..." she repeated in a barely audible slur. "I'll get in trouble," she added in a part-reasoning, part-childish voice. He would have thought it endearing if his hormones weren't raging with want. He pushed another finger inside her and pumped them as firmly as he could with how slick they were quickly becoming. His sister grasped the bottle of wine and took a long swig at it as though she were trying to drown out what he was doing to her. He stopped his fingers but didn't remove them as frustration and exasperation bubbled to the surface. Water spilled over his lids and in his intoxicated state, it was impossible to tell whether they had manifested of their own accord or he'd called them up deliberately. The redhead's eyes widened, looking wildly perplexed.

"Jonathan..."

"Why don't you want it? Who do you reject me?" his eyes were large and imploring and red-rimmed, his delicate lips turned down on one side. "It feels good- I know it feels good," he started massaging her clitoris maddeningly slowly to prove his point, as silent tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed onto her legs. She whimpered mostly in pleasure, leaning back on her hands and tilting her neck up.

"Its wrong, J," she gasped out and he did remove his fingers then, his racing heart stuttering with conflicting non-emotions. "And...and I have...there's..." she trailed off, looking disorientated and confused by his crying.

"And nothing!" he rasped, pulling her flush against his chest, encased in his arms. "You want me to touch you- I can tell!" she looked torn, before he ravished her mouth with his, holding her tighter. Her breath was hitching and gasping and she wasn't resisting, but he wanted to feel her tongue collide with his and her hands entwine in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you _crying_?" she slurred when he let her breathe, face flushed and eyes bright with dazed bewilderment. He swallowed harshly as she touched the wet skin over his cheekbone.

"Tell me you love me," he returned, tantalising her clit again with his right hand now. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she gnawed furiously on her bottom lip. "I'm the only one who can make you feel like this- _the only one_! Tell me you want it," she moaned erratically and he rubbed her quicker.

"Just do it!" she cried despairingly, one of her hands gripping the collar of his purple shirt. "We both know you're going to anyway!" she was weeping as well now, her eyes unfocused from the effects of the alcohol and something else that made the white-blond's heart lunge against his ribcage.

"Say it," he pressed urgently, halting his ministrations and cupping the redhead's face in his palms. "Why cant you?"

"I want you! There, are you happy now?" they were both breathing heavily and his sister looked like she was about ready to die of pent up anticipation. If only she was like this when she was sober, Jonathan thought gravely, but he picked her up and carried her out of the kitchen and through to the front of the house, her legs locked around his waist. He kissed her as he moved, stumbling once or twice in his haste, but he didn't care because she was kissing him back.

He didn't bother with the lights so the room remained dark aside from the moonlight through the windows. Nevertheless, he found his way to one of the leather sofas and set her down, lying on top of her. His fingers got her buttons undone swiftly enough and he parted the shirt without fully removing it; for his sister to wear his shirt while they had sex was too great a temptation. Her lower half was moving against him as he discarded his purple shirt on the floor and he couldn't get his jeans off quick enough for his liking. He brought his mouth down on hers passionately as his left hand squeezed her breast and teased her nipple. She moaned, one of her hands clutching the back of his neck while she dragged her nails across his hip with the other.

He started grinding his shaft against her through his boxers as he continued to hungrily feast on her mouth. She ran her tongue along his top row, before sucking and grazing his top lip and drawing an animalistic groan from the base of his throat. He couldn't wait much longer. He shoved down his boxers and flung them over his shoulder, leaning down to lap and tug at his sisters earlobe. He took one of her hands and wound it around his dick, but she took control straight away and began stroking and rubbing him.

"You're just so big..." she whispered as if to herself and he chuckled, half-mad with desire. She lifted her pelvis and began guiding the head to her hole; Jonathan felt like he was going to cum right there and then. He put her arms around his neck and buried his hot, stiff dick inside her as far up to the hilt as her body would allow. A deep sigh left him in a gust and the redhead was mewling and gasping beneath him, her features a lovely mixture of discomfiture and need. She was tight and wet and hot, clamped around him and he marvelled at how much better it felt than the last time. He hitched her legs up around him and started moving, his nails biting into her thighs and his forehead resting on hers, their gazes fixed on each other.

Her eyes widened and hooded interchangeably as he thrust in and out of her, her mouth open and producing fierce cries and moans in time with the motion. He was panting audibly as sweat gathered along his spine and their bodies clashes together, creating sweet music to his ears. His sister arched suddenly, crying out in euphoria and her muscles closed even more tightly around his shaft. He rammed into her faster as she rode out her orgasm, her hands bunched vice-like in his white hair. And then she lurched up so that he fell off the sofa, onto the floor with her tumbling after him. She burst into giggles and a seductive look flared in her eyes as she sat up, climbing onto his insistent dick.

He watched in unadulterated awe as she started riding him, slamming herself down on him over and over with her hands braced on his abs. He groaned through a smirk, grasping her hips and bucking up into her hard and fast, the temperature in the room reaching new highs and drawing more sweat from their connected bodies. Just as his sisters mewls became increasingly high-pitched and their movements became choppy and sporadic, Jonathan peaked and exploded up into her, his back arching to an almost painful extreme and her name left his lips. She followed, clamping around him a second time, her fingers raking his chest and her body trembling above him.

They sighed and panted, their faces mirroring relief and intense gratification. Clary unfolded herself and lay on top of him, her cheek against his chest and her right hand resting on his shoulder. Jonathan gazed blindly up at the ceiling, overwhelmed with exhaustion and contentment as his sister drifted off to sleep. He entangled a hand in her fiery hair as the other found its way to the small of her back, stroking soothingly; his heart was still pounding as he smiled inwardly, caught up in the bliss of the moment.

He didn't think about how she would be when she woke the next morning, only that she had made love to him and done so perfectly willingly. He wondered if this was what happiness felt like.


	14. Chapter 14

Clary was woken by sunshine burning through her eyelids and a splitting headache. She cracked her eyes open slightly, flinging her hand up to shield them from the too-bright light coming through the window. She settled back down, wanting to curl up and die; she was lying on something smooth and lean and warm and that was when she registered the chest rising and falling beneath her and the beating heart within it. She froze, slowly reopening her eyes and raising her head. _Jonathan_. She stifled a gasp with her palm, staring down at her sleeping brother with horror-struck eyes.

She stumbled awkwardly to her feet, glancing around frantically as if for an explanation, before looking down once more. He was sound asleep with his mouth open and an arm folded under his head, managing to make the floor look comfortable. Her hand was still covering her mouth and doing little to smother the rising hysteria as memories of the previous night flooded her mind. She'd been drunk, she reasoned, shaking her head. It wasn't her fault. She noticed that she was still wearing his pinstriped shirt, although it was unbuttoned. She clawed it off her as if it were teeming with maggots and let it drop to the floor. There was a sharp obstacle in her throat and she was finding it difficult to breathe around it. She needed space to breathe, think, lose her mind in peace. She made for the door into the hallway, taking a left for the staircase. Her thoughts couldn't keep up with the memories bombarding her mind- she kept seeing her brother's face as she'd mounted him-

She stopped on her way through the bedroom towards the bathroom and gripped her head as if trying to hold the pieces of her mind intact while it cracked. She felt like someone was strangling her, she needed to breathe, just breathe. She went into the bathroom, barely noticing that the door was back on its hinges and fixed. Locking it, she used the toilet and brushed her teeth, before stepping into the tub and turning on the shower. She felt unusually hot and flushed, but what was making her feel ill was how warm and wet she was becoming between her legs.

Her body wanted Jonathan there, wanted him to press her against the tiles and stroke his fingers up between her legs from behind, his breath in her ear and sending shivers down her spine. Her body wanted that, not her. There was a difference, she told herself adamantly, but as she remembered how he'd massaged her weak spot, watching her squirm with those dark roaming eyes, she felt her legs go weak. She slid to the floor of the tub and hugged her knees to her chest. She wanted to cry but she'd promised herself she wouldn't, so she squeezed her distraught eyes shut and attempted to block out everything that had happened the night before.

Everything was wrong; it was like waking up one day to find that the alphabet was backwards and that it had always been so- if you thought otherwise, you were crazy. Jonathan was breaking her. He was broken and now he was forcing upon her the same fate- whether it was his intention or not, didn't matter. She was like a soft toy that he was pulling and tearing at to test its resilience. And her stitching was fraying, wearing thin, coming loose. Anger flared up in her, hardening her emerald eyes and bringing her to her feet. She turned off the shower and got out, reaching for one of the maroon towels hanging on the radiator- it was impossible to tell which was hers and which was his.

After drying herself, she hung the towel back on the radiator and headed into the bedroom, going to the wardrobe. She put on a white satin bra and matching panties, before digging out a plain black t-shirt of her brothers and a pair of familiar-looking jeans. They were hers, she realised with a jolt of surprise; they were the jeans she'd been wearing the day he'd kidnapped her. She eagerly put them on, taking comfort from the fact that they belonged to her old life, with her mum and with Luke and with Simon, the Lightwoods, Jace. Her family...

The comfort swiftly dissolved into despair and hatred and heartache. She slammed the wardrobe door shut and jumped out of her skin.

"Did I scare you?" Jonathan. He was all ruffled white locks and dark humour and hard muscular chest and bare feet. He moved passed her and dumped his clothes from yesterday on the bed, the only article he'd donned being his navy boxers.

"Were you trying to?" she returned stonily as he turned back to her, his expression considering. She felt the blood rise to her cheeks under his scrutiny- his gaze was so heavy that he may as well have been touching her. He came towards her and she couldn't help but step backwards, trapping herself between him and the wardrobe in result.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night, little Sister?" he murmured, touching his lips to her temple as his fingers hooked into the belt loops of her jeans.

"No." _Yes_. It took all of Clary's willpower to duck out from his grasp and distance herself, walking over to gaze blindly out of the bay windows. The sky was clear and blue, the sun beating down on the lush grass below. "In fact, you got me so drunk I can barely remember anything." she added pointedly, spinning round to see him regarding her with an unreadable look and arms loosely crossed.

"I had no hand in getting you drunk. You managed that all by yourself," he replied flatly. He was right, but that only infuriated the redhead further.

"You took advantage of me!" she bit out, her green eyes flashing as she stalked towards him. "Did it turn you on, having me so compliant? Because it wasn't real- I didn't know what I was doing." his lips pulled down at the corners, but he showed no other outward response.

"You knew what you were doing. You might have been drunk, but part of you wanted it- _needed_ it- and that's why you let it happen," his tone was fairly cold, but his pulse was hammering in his neck, belying his calm façade. "You rode me like a stallion. _And you remember every second of it_." Clary flinched and then grimaced because she knew it was true.

"You sick bastard. You made me enjoy it-"

"I didn't make you do anything," her brother didn't look superior or smug like she thought he should, but she slapped him all the same. He didn't move, simply looked down at her with inscrutable eyes. She shoved him.

"I want you to rape me." she told him fiercely and she had the pleasure of seeing him slightly taken aback.

"What-" she back-handed him.

"Go on! I'm misbehaving- being naughty- punish me." she shoved him again and swung her fist towards his face. He caught her wrists in his hands effortlessly and pulled her to him.

"I'm not going to satisfy your guilty conscious," he hissed down at her, looking somewhere between outraged and bleak. "It wont change anything; you wanted me inside you and I gave it to you. And then you gave it to me. And you loved it just as much as I did." the redhead was shaking her head in defeat but she wasn't ready to give up yet. She kneed him in the stomach and flew at him, both of them falling to the ground.

"Come on, J. Rape me," she sounded desperate even to her own ears as she straddled his hips and started grinding against him, feeling his dick stiffen by the second. She wanted him to abuse her so that she could forget about how good he'd felt the previous evening. She wanted him back to her murdering, sociopathic, rapist of a brother- not the boy who'd made her cum multiple times and who she got wet just thinking about. Nor the broken child she sympathised with. "You know you want to. Do it- punish me!" she whipped her hand sharply across his face and his onyx gaze sliced to hers, his hands grabbing her waist. He rolled, pinning her with his body and crushed her mouth with his relentlessly. She squeezed his bum through his boxers, lifting her pelvis and rubbing against him as firmly as she could.

"Rape me, J," she breathed between his hard kisses. He let up then, muffling a low chuckle against her collarbone, which made her shudder.

"Clarissa, Clarissa, Clarissa," he murmured, shaking his head and raising it to look down at her. "Its not rape, if you want it," he whispered, evidently amused, but he got off her and went into the bathroom. She remained where she lay, stunned, listening to the sound of running water and forcing back the harsh wave of disappointment and frustration and shame. She was never going to drink again.

After a while, she got to her feet and retreated to the basement, stealing some snacks out of a cupboard in the kitchen- which hadn't been tidied yet- on the way, for later on. If she acted like a prisoner, her brother would have to treat her as one. So she would stay in the basement- aside from bathroom breaks- and act as his sex-slave and nothing more. And if he didn't like it, he'd have to teach her who's boss; as long as she didn't enjoy it, she didn't care what he did to her.

* * *

**_Sorry this chapters short :)_**


	15. Chapter 15

Clary wasn't sure whether it was early evening or mid-afternoon, but she didn't question it, simply munched very slowly on a packet of prawn 'n' cocktail crisps, savouring the taste. She knew Jonathan would bring her down something to eat eventually, but she wasn't going to accept it- she'd rather starve and she doubted he had the patience to force-feed her. At some point, she found herself curled up on the brass-framed bed, her headache bordering on a migraine and waited for sleep to claim her.

* * *

"I wish we could stay like this forever,"

The redhead opened her eyes as if waking from an induced, year-long sleep. She was sitting on Jace's bed in his room at the Institute, her back against the headboard and her legs stretched out. She glanced down to see Jace himself, lying on his back with his head resting in her lap. She felt like weeping with overwhelming relief as she hesitantly ran her fingers through his wavy, golden-blond hair that she loved so much. His eyes were closed and she ached for him to open them and look at her in that way he always did.

"I've missed you," she whispered as if afraid someone would hear and call her out as a liar. But she wasn't lying and there was nobody else here besides them. "You don't know how much..."

"What are you talking about?" the golden-blond scoffed, turning to grin up at her; his flecked amber eyes and his imperfect teeth were exactly how she remembered them. "I know I'm irresistible with the charming personality to boot, but its barely been five hours since the last time we were together," the redhead had been gazing down at him and tentatively brushing the loose strands out of his face when it sunk in what he'd said.

"Five hours? Its been days and I've been..." she trailed off due to the bemused look on his face and because she wasn't entirely sure how to finish that sentence.

"Seriously, Clary. Don't go senile on me just yet, we have a date tomorrow," Jace teased, sitting up and bracing his hands on the bed either side of her. "I've already planned out my outfit; I thought I'd take a leaf out of Alec's book and go for a holey jumper and frayed jeans. What do you think?"

"I don't know; are you dating me or an enigmatic warlock?" she couldn't resist replying, sensing herself being drawn in by the normalcy of the moment. It was like everything was right in the world again.

"Technically, they aren't-" the golden-blond started to say, but she stopped him, putting a finger to his lips.

"Why are we going on a date? Aren't you helping the Clave search for Jonathan?" she asked as calmly as she could, considering the spike in her heart-rate at the thought of her brother. She hoped Jace didn't notice the colour that rose to her cheeks.

"Jonathan?" he repeated, looking momentarily confused.

"Sebastian." the redhead self-corrected hastily, mentally kicking herself at the slip-up; the golden-blonds features cleared, replaced by a hard edge.

"Oh, he can wait. I'm sure he's just sitting somewhere polishing his nails anyway," his tone was mildly acidic, but he seemed to be concentrating very hard on something. Clary looked down to see that his hands were glowing as if sunlight were flowing just beneath his skin. She bit her lip and looked back up at him. Was this real, or was it a dream? If it was real, then everything with Jonathan had been in her head. And she was still a virgin, physically...

"Finding my brother is top priority. This is serious, Jace." she was surprised at how stern she sounded, but her boyfriend merely rolled his eyes and grinned at her.

"Yes, Ma'am," he mock-saluted and she saw that the glow of his hands had receded somewhat. That wasn't what caught her attention however, what had was his nonchalance. This was Jonathan- Sebastian- they were speaking about and aside from the slight change in features and the fire beneath his skin, he didn't appear half as bothered as she thought he should. Then again, this was Jace and he was only serious ninety-five percent of the time.

"Is this real...?" she murmured, absently pressing her palm against his chest over his heart; it was strong and steady as always. Jace leaned in and brushed her lips with his, lingering.

"This is as real as real can be, mon amie," he said against her lips and she cupped his face and kissed him in response. He laughed as he returned the pressure, so soft, so Jace. It felt almost alien kissing him- she'd grown used to the unpractised, instinctive way of her brothers mouth and now she was with Jace again, his lips expert and perfect on hers. And yet so heart-wrenchingly familiar. He came up for air, his hands light on her shoulders. All of his skin that was visible, including his face, seemed to be shimmering and matching the gold of his hair.

"I knew I had a certain effect on people, but..." she skimmed the tip of her finger along his arm, feeling heat rise in its wake.

"Oh yeah, you're on fire tonight. Or rather, I am," the redhead laughed despite herself and Jace smiled at her from ear to ear.

"I've missed you," she said again, kissing him almost frantically and forgetting for a minute about the heavenly fire and her brother and everything, except the feel of her mouth against Jace's. She was pleased to find him doing the same, giving in to the moment and laying her down against the pillows. His tongue danced with hers as his hand ran down the side of her body to stroke the bare flesh of her hip. She gasped into his mouth and found that she was winning the battle of dominance over his tongue. She tugged his t-shirt up over his head and her hands traced the tan plains of his back as he went to work on her zipper. She moaned wantonly when his hand slipped into her jeans and she impatiently moved it into her panties, guiding his fingers to her special place. His breath was thin as he followed her lead and started rubbing her, his mouth trailing up and down the side of her neck.

"Oh, Jonathan..." she breathed, raking his shoulders with her blunt nails. The sensation stopped and she looked up dazed and petulant to see Jace staring down at her with a strange look on his face.

"What did you call me...?" it gradually dawned on the redhead what she'd said and ice thawed in her veins as darkness swallowed her whole.

* * *

Clary surfaced to find herself back in the basement of Jonathan's house, in the same position as before. The only difference was the arm hugging her back to a warm body. It had been a dream after all. Her heart sank and she twisted around carefully to see her brother sleeping peacefully. He was still dressed, as was she. The abnormal heat of the house didn't bother her as much any more, but she was sweating so she pushed her jeans down her legs and tossed them to the end of the bed. Her brother stirred slightly and frowned, his arm searching for her like he'd lost his favourite teddy. He rolled onto her side, his left knee between her legs and his hand in her hair. She could feel his breath against her neck.

She shifted, automatically putting her arms around him and running a hand up and down his back once. She was glad he was wearing a top- she always avoided touching his back when it was bare, not wanting to nick one of the scars and make it sore. She could feel the ridges even now, through the cotton material and it made her stomach flip. Her nether regions were still wanting, the need left over from the dream and it was preventing her from falling back asleep. Closing her eyes, she ignored the fact that her brother was sleeping practically on top of her and slid her hand into her underwear.

She bit her lip as her legs widened and she pleasured herself. After a minute, she blew out a breath and glared up at the ceiling. It just wasn't the same. She blushed furiously as an idea occurred to her. She lay fuming for a moment, disgusted with herself for even thinking it. What was wrong with her? She couldn't be this far gone already- it had only been four days! Wetting her lips, she pretended she was someone else- and that Jonathan wasn't her brother- and untangled his hand from her red curls cautiously. She moved it down into her underwear like she'd done with Jace in the dream and rubbed his elegant fingers over her clitoris in a circular motion. It felt better but it was still missing something and it made her more frustrated by the second. His hand twitched under hers then and he sighed against her neck; he was waking.

"What's this...?" he mumbled, feeling around her and she bit down on a moan. She felt him prop himself up and his fingers left her panties. She looked up at him in silent protest and he was staring down at her, bleary-eyed and incredulous. "That's a unique way of waking someone up,"

"I wasn't trying to wake you up." the redhead scowled, her green eyes flickering down to where his hand was resting on the skin above her underwear and back up at him.

"Well, maybe you should have," he leered down at her, his eyes fast becoming aware and bright, the cloak of sleep ebbing away. She didn't get a chance to respond because his fingers were back in her panties and working on her sweet spot. She panted, one of her hands gripping his shoulder and the other fisted in the mattress sheet. He looked like he was going to cum just from watching her writhe and moan under him. She back-tracked, attempting to pull his hand away.

"No, wait- I don't want this." she told him, swallowing harshly, her mouth bone-dry.

"Oh yes you do," he breathed and then his mouth was pressing against hers, his tongue licking into her. His fingers were quick and slick now, pushing her to the edge. "And so do I,"

"Stop- oh god...Stop, Jonathan..." her voice was weak and words were futile at this point. She braced her palms on his chest as he swirled his tongue around her mouth, suppressing the urge to chase it with her own. As she grew closer to orgasm, her mind returned to her for a second and it was long enough to shove him and yank his hand away by the arm, her nails digging in.

They stared at each other, breathing heavily and the redheads hand still tight around his forearm. Jonathan's gaze was dark and smouldering with longing and lust and she felt her face falter, even as her grip on his arm tightened. The air between them was tense and static and the redhead felt her resolve crumbling as her brother remained motionless, staring her out and hectic colour spreading along his sharp cheekbones. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came and then she was pulling him to her, on top of her as if she had no control over her body. He lay gazing down at her, still unmoving but the length of him was thrumming against her. He was doing it deliberately, forcing her to make the first move and it worked even so. She leaned up and removed the black t-shirt of his that she'd been wearing and unclasped her white satin bra, throwing them both off the bed.

He was visibly aching with the self-restraint he was exercising and she found herself enjoying seeing him suffer this way. She roughly removed his t-shirt and pressed wet kisses from his chest, up his throat and stopped at his jaw. She knew he wasn't going to do anything until she kissed him properly on the mouth, so she tipped him off and undid his jeans, clawing them down his legs. She straddled him, moving against his hard-on in a slow fashion as she watched the waves of pleasure rolling across his angular features. His hands came up to hook in her underwear, but she slapped them away, smirking deviously down at him. Defiance and pride flashed in his eyes but he didn't move.

In all honesty, she didn't know what she was doing and yet at the same time she knew perfectly well. She was going to have sex with her brother; she _wanted_ to have sex with her brother. No, she wanted to have sex, period. And her brother was the only one here, although she had to admit- begrudgingly- that a certain part of her wanted _his_ penis inside her. Maybe it was because he'd taken her virginity, or because she liked the way he filled her up...

She stopped thinking altogether then and took off her panties, leaving herself completely naked. She took his right hand and stroked herself with it, slipping two fingers inside and sighing deeply, looking down to gauge Jonathan's expression. His lips were parted and his pupils were dilated, widening the silver rings that outlined them. She leaned down and cupped his face, his fingers continuing to pump in and out of her.

"I hate you..." she whispered desperately, brushing her thumbs along the startling colour high on his cheekbones.

"I want you," he replied huskily, not seeming to have heard what she'd said, his eyes hooded and his fingers drawing a moan from her lips. She couldn't stand it anymore- she wanted him on her, inside her, against her. She brought her mouth down on his, knotting her fingers in his silky ivory hair. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, their mouths feeding off one another. She gasped and arched as his mouth moved to her right breast, sucking on it firmly until her nipple was pert under his tongue. He lay her down and her hands immediately started pushing down his boxers, wanting to feel him rigid and raring to go. She lay back on her elbows as he hooked her legs over his shoulders and watched him push the head of his dick against her hole. He was circumcised, she noted vaguely and then everything fell away. Everything apart from the feeling of him entering her, stretching her, moulding her to him.

The redhead sank back onto the mattress, tensed briefly in discomfiture and mewling incomprehensibly as her brother started rocking into her. His hands grasped her thighs, her lower legs dangling over his shoulders as he violated her over and over in wild abandon, making her cry out in euphoria and want him ever deeper. Her hands fastened on one of the bars of the bedframe above her head as she delighted in Jonathan pounding in and out of her. She arched abruptly, her sweat-laced body racked with the blissful tremors of orgasm and she cried out. Her brother lowered her legs to lock around his waist and buried his face in her shoulder, his nails biting into her hips as he thrust into her hard and fast, groans streaming from his lips and muffling against her skin.

Clary's palms were slippery on the brass bar she was holding onto for dear life as she met his hips as best she could with how fast he was going. She could feel another build-up within her and she was panting embarrassingly loudly as if she were being deprived of oxygen. Steam was practically rising off their bodies when they finally came, peaking simultaneously and the redhead screamed his name without even realising it. Jonathan arched into her, solid and lovely and bursting with hot semen and the way he stuttered out her name against her neck, sent tingles down her spine.

His mouth and tongue were sloppy and clumsy on hers and all the better for it. He was releasing little noises from the back of his throat as they kissed, just like the first time they'd had sex and she couldn't help but find it endearing in her current, disorientated state. She wasn't going to think about the consequences or the reality of what had just happened until the morning; right now, she was perfectly content.

* * *

**_Hope the Clace wasnt too bad- I've never written or read any Clace so I hope its okay._**

**_Also, someone mentioned the nickname. Whenever Clarys called him 'J' it hasnt been intended as endearment; she first starts calling him that when shes drunk, since J is a lot easier to say. And so far, shes only called him J when sober in a fit of desperation and/or while trying to get him to do what she wants. Its a nickname, but its not intended as endearment- at least, not yet._**

**_Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)_**


	16. Chapter 16

Clary was sitting on the bed in the basement, her back against the far wall and her knees drawn up. She'd put on a fresh pair of underwear and her jeans; Jonathan's black t-shirt was still abandoned on the floor. She hadn't said a word to her brother this morning. When she'd woken, she'd locked herself in the bathroom and had a proper wash, scrubbing every inch of her skin and shaving with a spare razor, before massaging shampoo into her poorly looked after curls. When she'd finished and gone through to the bedroom, the white-blond had been there, standing at the bay windows in his boxers and gazing out over the horizon. She'd turned her back on the display of his grotesque scars to slip into a lacy garnet bra and matching thong, before going back downstairs and shutting herself away in the basement.

She was actively pretending that both the previous night and the drunken slip-up the night before that hadn't happened. As long as she remained in denial, she couldn't think about the empty space between her legs where her brother had been. Except it wasn't that easy, in fact, it was the complete opposite. She mechanically brushed the knots out of her hair with a comb she'd picked up in the bedroom, wincing every so often and wishing she had a brush. The door opened then and her hand stilled for a split-second before resuming its task. Jonathan came down the steps with a plate in hand.

"Hungry?" he inquired peaceably as he came round to the bed. His hair was damp, darkening it to a light grey colour and was tucked behind his ears, a stray lock hanging to the side of his face. He was wearing a long-sleeved charcoal top, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and black combat trousers. The redhead watched him warily as he sat on the bed cross-legged and patted the space before him. "Come here,"

"I'd rather not." she muttered, looking down at the comb in her hands and away from his keen, tempting eyes.

"Clarissa," he intoned mildly and she glanced up to see him looking at her from under his long lashes, one of his fair eyebrows quirked.

"I'm not hungry." she told him, swallowing and breaking eye contact. She must have looked terrified because his features softened and he set aside the plate in his hands to crawl across to her. Her heart started racing in panic but she had no time to move before her brother was resting his hands on her knees, his expression reassuring; she didn't feel reassured.

"You have to eat something," he said in a coaxing tone, but she was distracted by the fact that the only thing acting as a barrier between her breasts and his mouth was her bra. She flushed deeply, folding her arms over her chest in an attempt to preserve her modesty. "The easy way or the hard way, Clary..." at the word 'hard', she felt her insides coil. His hands were still on her knees and she pictured him parting them and coming between them.

She gasped as if for breath. "I cant cope with this." she lay down on her front and buried her face in a pillow, her arms wrapped around her head. She tensed under the feel of her brothers palm on her lower back.

"Its just a sandwich, Clarissa," he murmured, sounding obviously amused and his voice close to her right ear. His fingers skimmed up and down over her vertebrae. Hastily, she sat up and knocked his arm away.

"Its never just a sandwich with you." she all but spat, getting in his faintly-startled face; their noses bumped.

"What's that supposed to-" he began to ask, his eyes wide and black as night, but she stopped him with her lips and her hand fisted in his top. She swiped slowly at his mouth, pushing apart his willing lips with her own and twirling her tongue around his, tasting mint tooth paste. He sighed into her mouth appreciatively and she dragged his top lip through her teeth, drawing a stilted groan from his throat. She released his mouth, nibbling her way down the sensitive skin of his neck and bit into his shoulder. His hands were entwined in her damp hair, his breathing laboured in her left ear.

"I'll eat your damn sandwich." she grumbled against his shoulder, before pressing her red cheek against the side of his neck. One of his hands was warm in the back pocket of her jeans and it took all of her willpower to say her next words. "But I want you to leave. I don't wanna see you again for the rest of the day." he pulled back and frowned at her, evidently trying not to pout.

"Why?" he demanded; the redhead bit her lip and moved to the edge of the bed where the plate was sitting, her back to her brother. She felt the bed shift and then his arms were snaking around her shoulders from behind. "Answer me," he sucked her earlobe into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

"Because of this." she said, exasperated, elbowing him in the ribs to try and shake him off. He started laughing then as if he couldn't help it and sat back on his heels; she sent him a green-eyed glare over her shoulder, but he only grinned at her crookedly.

"Alright, alright," he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender and getting off the bed. Before he turned to leave, he tilted her chin up with a finger and leaned down to kiss her once squarely on the mouth. He smiled tenderly down into her eyes, before straightening up and heading upstairs. Clary released a long breath, closing her eyes briefly. What was happening to her? She set the plate in her lap and lifted a corner of the bread to see the sandwiches contents. Cheese, ham and salad. An unexpected wave of nausea rolled through her stomach and she had to lie down for a few minutes while it passed.

_What if he's poisoning me? He could've put anything in that meal he made the other night- and there could be more of it in the sandwich. What if he's putting powdered demon blood in my food?_

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, feeling fear clutch at her heart. She thought of Valentine poisoning her mother; was this an endless cycle? Would this keep happening over and over as long as the Morgenstern bloodline continued to exist? No, she didn't believe that- she _couldn't_. If she and Jace ever had children, they would be nothing like Jonathan or Valentine...If she and Jace had children...? What was she thinking? At the rate things were going, she wasn't going to make it past twenty. That, or she was going to be stuck here forever. Either way, she had to accept the worst case scenario: she wasn't going to see Jace or any of the rest of her family and friends ever again. Shoulders slumped, she put the plate and uneaten sandwich on the ground beside her brother's black t-shirt and curled up on the bed in foetal position.

* * *

_Clary was standing in a baron, blue-tinted expanse, completely naked. The grass was scratchy against her feet and a sharp, chilly gust of wind whipped up her fiery curls, licking them across her face. Thick white mist descended, silent as death and embraced her milky skin, protecting her from the wind. She started walking forward, hugging her arms around her tiny frame and the crisp, dense air getting in her eyes and mouth. And then out of the mist there came a figure, approaching her with slick movements like a pantha. His face was all lines and angles, coated in flawless pale skin, his mouth like a rose bud and contrasting with his black, predatory eyes._

_He was equally naked, she saw as the wisps of mist floated by his limbs and they both moved into a pocket of clear air, stopping in front of each other. She felt as though she were entranced, her lips parted and her heart beating wildly in her chest as she gazed up at her brother._

_"I'm disappearing," he said softly, lifting a hand, palm facing her; it was gradually becoming translucent as the rest of his body remained solid._

_"Where are you going?" she asked automatically as if she had no control over herself or her speech. His gaze was so deep and intent on hers that she could've sworn his hand was stroking up between her thighs, even though she could see both of them still by his sides._

_"I'm falling," he told her, not seeming especially bothered by it; he was smiling serenely._

_"How will I catch you?" she replied, wanting to reach for his hand but not physically being able to. Warmth shone in his eyes and the ghost of his fingers slid inside her, invading her with fire and length. She hadn't thought his fingers were _that_ long. She gasped, her head falling back and her body quivering with want and need where it stood, weighted to the spot by gravity. She was practically in the throws of orgasm._

_"Don't cry..."_

* * *

Clary bolted upright, breathless and panting. She was sweaty and her eyes dropped to see her jeans undone and her fingers inside her, sticky with cum. She cast her gaze about the basement quickly to see that she was alone; she would have flushed in humiliation if her cheeks weren't already tainted scarlet and burning. That was the second erotic dream now, although vastly more weird and unnerving. And starring Jonathan instead of Jace. Something wasn't right. It was bad enough having sex with her brother in reality without having dreams about him sending her over the edge with just his hand. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and picked up her brothers t-shirt to wipe her fingers on. She zipped up her jeans and headed to the first floor, the t-shirt in hand.

When she entered the bedroom, Jonathan was sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with his legs drawn up and supporting what looked like a dark brown, bound notebook. Did he keep a diary? He seemed engrossed in whatever he was writing- using a fountain pen, she noted- but he looked up at her when she tossed his t-shirt onto the bed.

"Good evening," he sighed, leaning his head back on the dark wood and smiling at her.

"I'm just gonna...get washed." Clary responded awkwardly, jabbing her thumb in the general direction of the bathroom and hoping he didn't know what she'd just been doing.

"Again?" he said, humour dancing in the depths of his eyes. She felt her nether regions flaring up all over again, under her brothers scrutiny.

"Gotta brush my teeth." she said shortly, fumbling with the door-handle. When she finally got through the door and into the bathroom, she locked it and sagged back against it, her arms crossed and her hands gripping her shoulders, covering her bra-clad breasts. But she didn't think she'd ever be able to wash away the imprint of her brothers looks and touches. The hairs rose along her back and she moved away to go about her business. Once she was done, she stared into the mirror above the sink at her reflection. Her face looked thin as was to be expected considering she was hardly eating anything. But she was still the same old Clary. The only change she detected seemed to be with her eyes; they were as vibrant as ever- maybe even more so- but they seemed to have darkened slightly in shade. They looked less emerald and more hunter green.

She shrugged her tense shoulders and exited the bathroom. Jonathan was off the bed in a shot as she made for the bedroom door. He gathered her up in his arms from behind and she had to refrain from relaxing into the hug.

"Have sex with me," he breathed, kissing and sucking at her neck. She shook her head, not trusting her voice not to betray her. Jonathan's hands went to her jeans, popping the button. "I've missed you," he said into her left ear in a sultry tone, forcing her zip down slowly. She felt herself shiver involuntarily, her fingers closing around his forearms to stop him, but not doing so.

"Let go." she commanded weakly, but he didn't, simply slid his right hand beneath her thong. "Don't, Jonathan-"

"But you're all wet down there," he complained, his voice just above a whisper, before he pushed a finger inside. He released a breath at the same time she did and she could feel him digging into her lower back. "Please?" he begged shamelessly.

"No." she answered, her grip on his arms tightening and she pulled at them roughly. There was a pause in which she could practically hear her brothers heart pounding as well as her own. And then he swept her off her feet, his arms vice-like around her waist and moved to dump her on the bed. She twisted round hurriedly to see him lift his top over his head and toss it aside. She lunged for the end of the bed, but his legs were there and trapping hers between them, as he bent to yank down her jeans. She struggled, trying to kick out at him, but he pressed her down onto the bed with a hand on her chest. She clawed at it viciously, shouting at him but soon he had both her jeans and thong off and two of his fingers were gliding inside her, reducing her resistance to nothing.

"That's it," her brother purred, his fingers on her clitoris and sending her into oblivion. "You like that, don't you..." she gasped through her moans, looking up to see him biting his bottom lip, eyes hooded. He shoved his trousers and boxers down his thighs eagerly and came over her, preparing to penetrate. Clary jerked as his fingers left her and she immediately tried to sit up, pushing at him.

"Stop- I don't want to!" he pinned her wrists to the bed above her head, ignoring her plea and spreading her legs with his hips. "Jonathan, I said no." she said in a deadly calm tone, her eyes flashing in warning. He met her gaze then, looking like a spoilt brat who wasn't getting his way. She returned his gaze unflinching.

"Then say yes. Because we _are_ having sex tonight." He felt so good on top of her, hot and heavy and buzzing, but she was not going to have sex with him. Not again.

"Lie down." she ordered, not particularly liking what she was about to do; her body was screaming at her, wanting nothing but for him to embed his dick inside her. "Lie down." she repeated, fast losing patience as he regarded her suspiciously. He hesitantly did as he was told, eyes on her and feverish. She threw her leg over and perched on his thighs, taking a deep breath before bending down and reluctantly taking the head of his penis into her mouth. Her brother sucked in a breath and titled his head back, rolling it from side to side and biting back the huge grin threatening to take over his face. The redhead had been right: Jonathan's ever-blazing desire _was_ contagious.

She licked around the head experimentally and then started sucking his shaft into her mouth, a little at a time. She tried to get as much in as possible, but she'd never done something like this before and he was just so big- he could suffocate someone with this thing. _Maybe it was the size that attracted Mum to Valentine..._The thought evaporated as quickly as it had manifested, but it left the redhead wanting to throw up at its wrongness- despite the fact that she was currently giving her brother a blow job...

"Oh, fuck," she heard Jonathan groan as she began bobbing her mouth up and down, sucking him as firmly as she could and lapping at him every so often. She glanced up to gauge her brothers expression; he was propped on his elbows with a hand clenching and unclenching in his hair, watching her as though he couldn't quite handle what was going on. As if from a great distance, she sensed her hand reach across to his free one and grasp it, sucking on his dick all the while. His eyes focused on hers, his fingers clasping hers almost gratefully and for a moment it was like time had stopped. His eyes were large and bright with trust and something else that she couldn't determine. She was transfixed and then the moment snapped apart and Jonathan was arching his back, his knuckles white amongst the sheets and in-between her fingers.

It was a good thing she'd pulled back before he came, because he bucked deep into her mouth, hot liquid hitting the back of her throat. She had no choice but to swallow and then she let the wet flesh fall from her mouth. She leant her forehead on his abdomen for a few seconds, letting the dust settle, before she drew her hand back from his grasp and got to her feet.

"Where are you going?" Jonathan asked, instantly rising to a sitting position as she slipped into her thong and picked up her jeans. She stole a glance at him. He looked frazzled, his ivory hair tousled and all over the place; his expression was that of a fifteen year old girl who had just lost her virginity to a guy who had no intention of sticking around. She got into her jeans and did them up, before climbing back onto the bed. She kissed her brothers forehead once and then again, before pulling away. He hooked a finger into one of her jeans belt loops. "Need help?" he asked, eyes flitting to her crotch and then back up.

"No." the redhead sighed, running a hand through her curls. "I'm going to bed." she made to move away, but he stopped her by the finger hooked on her jeans, tugging her closer to him.

"Stay here. With me," he said, shifting to pull up his boxers and kick his trousers to the end of the bed. His hands went up to her hips and he pulled her into his lap. "In our bed, together," she stared at him as he smiled gently, brushing his thumbs back and forth over the skin of her back. He looked so..._happy_. She felt like she was about to deny a kid an ice-cream. But she did it anyway.

"See you tomorrow, Jonathan." she extricated herself from his arms, averting her eyes as his fine eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. She walked to the door, feeling acutely aware of his gaze trailing after her. However, when she glanced back at him, he was lying on his front and facing away from her. The last thing she saw before leaving the room, were the whip-scars that mapped his back.


	17. Chapter 17

_Jonathan Morgenstern was walking at a steady pace down an almost deserted road. It was either Autumn or Winter- he didn't keep track of time and date, nowadays- and being near immune to the cold, he wore merely a thin, black, belted trench coat open over an untucked white shirt and frayed jeans. The steps of his scuffed, combat boot clad feet were silent by way of runes. His sights were on his target about ten feet ahead of him; a petite figure with masses of red hair tumbling down her back. His sister. _His_._

_His acuitive gaze travelled over her frame for a few moments, from her cream converses to her hooded, green, velvet jacket and back down to rest on the curve of her bum and swaying hips, encased in nicely tight jeans. The corner of his mouth curled upwards, as a fire ignited at his core, pushing his legs faster, closer. He glimpsed her destination coming up on the left and sped up, bringing his hand down to the side of her neck in a chopping motion. He caught her before she hit the ground and swept her dead-weight up into his arms bridal-style. Doubling back and cutting down an alley, he set the redhead down, leaning her back against the wall and took his stele from the back pocket of his jeans. He set the tip to the hard brick and began drawing a portal, his movements expert and instinctive from the countless practise._

_The runes glowed and the patch of wall began to shimmer. Lifting Clary back up into his arms, he stood looking down at her for a second. Even though she was unconscious, her face was soothing and he leant down to inhale the scent of her hair; he remembered the two of them on horse-back in Idris, his arms secure around her and her back snug against his chest as his nose memorised her natural scent- something he found immensely comforting. He stepped through the portal._

_His boots landed on soft ground, grass crunching beneath them and a light breeze stirred his ivory hair._

_"Home, sweet, home," he announced, gazing up at the house before them and then down at his sister with a prideful smile. _First, get her inside_. He strode up the dusty, stone path and up onto the sandy-brick porch, adjusting the redhead in his arms and edging around the front door. He crossed to the door leading into the hallway and went right, heading for the basement and the blue-purple walls blurring at the speed he was going. He jogged downstairs and moved to the chain hanging in the centre of the dank space, setting his sister on her feet. He pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her jacket and let it fall to the floor; she was wearing a shell-sleeved, peach top._

_Trapping her waist between his thighs to hold her body in place, he stretched her arms up above her head and clamped her wrists in the wrought-iron cuff hanging from the chain. He had used runes on the metal cuffs and fixtures that dotted the room, but he'd tell her he'd used demon spells and incantations if he needed to. She was better off afraid for now; he could teach her to love him later. She hung limply, her feet dragging slightly and her head lulling against her chest. He crouched down to remove her converses and toss them over to where her jacket lay, before gliding his palms up the backs of her legs, over her bum and under her top as he rose slowly, pulling her unresponsive body into a firm embrace. __His arms were wrapped around her tiny frame beneath her top, gripping her sides and his face buried in her hair; she felt so soft and round and _good_, pressed against him, but it would be better when she was conscious- even more so when she was willing._

_"My Clarissa Adele," he breathed, feeling the impulse to strip her of the cotton and denim barriers clinging to her and slide up between her thighs, fast and throbbing. He was already stiff in his pants, but he needed her docile for a while longer. He drew away from her and she went slack like a puppet, dangling and swinging faintly from the cuff around her wrists. He retrieved her jacket and shoes and mounted the stairs, glancing back only once before locking her in. Walking back through to the front of the house, he hung her jacket on the brass coat stand near the entrance and dropped her shoes on the floor next to it. After a seconds deliberation, he took off his own coat and hung it up beside his sisters, smiling briefly at the picture before taking out his stele and going outside._

_He walked the perimeter, drawing large Repelling runes in the air- three each across the front, sides and back of the house- and leaving wide berths just in case Clary liked spending time outdoors. They could have picnics together, if she wanted. The runes shone and faded as he went and with the final swirl of his stele, there was a sound like a gasp, as though the wind was being sucked out. He was ninety-nine percent certain that they weren't now on limited oxygen that could potentially run out, but he'd have to monitor the air. He would be in and out anyway, dealing with reality- it was only Clary who would be in the bubble indefinitely. _

Its a gilded cage_, an imperious voice whispered to him from the back of his mind; it sounded like his father. He ignored it, heading back to the house. He didn't care as long as it worked. And it would work- he would make it work. _She could never love you, just like your mother could never love you_. Jonathan stopped in the middle of the front room and closed his eyes, relaxing his mind and imagined snuffing out the anger and hate that had been evoked. He pictured packing away all those memories and parts of himself- from his childhood, from the time he'd been impersonating Sebastian Verlac- the parts that provoked negativity, the parts that embodied negativity, the parts that were products of negativity- abuse, neglect, disgust, regret. He packed away everything belonging to that side of himself- his old self- and closed the lid. While he was here, he would be simply, Clary's Jonathan. At least, he would try..._

_He took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth before making his way back down to the basement._

* * *

Valentine's son rolled onto his back and instantly shielded his face from the light with his arms. He'd forgotten to close the curtains last night. _Last night_...He gradually lowered his arms, blinking through the blinding sunshine coming through the bay windows. He turned his head to the right, running the back of his hand over the empty space. She hadn't stayed. His chest heaved slightly with rising rage, which automatically replaced what he was truly 'feeling' and that could only be described as hurt. Hurt and rejection. He pounded his fist against the bed and sat up, putting his legs over the side and leaning forward on them with his elbows. He scowled inwardly as he stared down at his clasped hands, trying to regain control of his senses.

He squeezed his eyes shut and then his lips parted and he breathed out, recalling the way his sister had closed that plush mouth around him, enveloping him in its wet warmth. His head had almost physically hurt from how mind-blowing the experience had been. _Clary_, who days ago had wanted nothing more than to repeatedly stab him in the neck, no doubt. Clarissa- his sister- had gone down on him. It had been so unexpected, so unbelievable. He kept seeing her green eyes as she'd looked up at him, wide and hooded and bright and dark, all at the same time.

He came out of his reverie and opened his eyes to find that he was leaning back on one hand, while the other palmed his rock-hard dick beneath his boxers. If the redhead had slept in here, he could be inside her right now. He sighed irritably and jerked himself off, fantasising about bending his sister over the bed and ploughing into her. He swore and came all over his hand and boxers, resisting the urge to fall back on the bed. Instead, he tucked himself back in and went into the bathroom, his breathing mildly thin.

He pushed his underwear down and off his legs and used the toilet before brushing his teeth and getting in the shower. As he stood under the shower-head, leaning his forearm against the tiles and letting the hot water stream over his body, he thought more about the previous night. He'd kept thinking the same thing over and over, even afterwards, a single thought playing through his mind as if on a loop. Like a seed had been planted in his brain, growing rapidly within a matter of minutes, but not quite achieving full bloom. A thought, that had stuck on the tip of his tongue, but he hadn't been able to put into spoken word. He dismissed it now, with clarity and hindsight as he rubbed his face and slicked back his hair with both hands.

_It wasn't her, it was what she was doing that I_-

A shiver went up his spine, his nerves tingling and he turned to see Clary herself, red-cheeked and her mouth open, hand frozen on the door-handle. He wanted her.

"Coming in?" he asked calmly, even as his heart spiked and blood roared in his ears. He could see the effect he was having on her; he'd gotten right under her skin and that made his own skin itch to touch her, to slide against her, to burrow inside her. She seemed to falter, looking awkward and ashamed and miserable; if she joined him, he could cheer her up...His eyes lingered on her crotch subconsciously and he wondered if she was wet. Sensing his hand creeping up to stroke his penis, he caught himself and offered the hand to his sister as both a distraction and to encourage her into the tub.

"I'll pass." she answered finally, dropping her gaze and walking over to the sink. He watched her move, trying to decide whether he was going to let it go or not. He got out of the tub, the running water forgotten behind him. She stiffened as he approached, but he saw the way she bit her lip in the reflection of the mirror. He rested his hands on the sink either side of her, pressing his erection up against her and touching his lips to her shoulder. He glanced up at her in the mirror and her eyes were closed, her ample chest rising and falling quickly. He smirked and undid her bra.

"What are you doing?" she said, clearly on the verge of frantic, but she didn't stop him from slipping the straps off her arms and exposing her breasts. He cupped them, squeezing sensationally and teasing her nipples, making his sister gasp as he pushed his dick harder against her. He needed to get her out of those jeans. She struggled suddenly, twisting around to face him. "You liked what I did last night- I'll do that again-"

"No. I need this," he told her, forcing her zip down and putting his hand down her underwear. She was definitely wet now. He captured her mouth with his hungrily as he stroked her maddeningly slowly, incenting her pelvis to move against his fingers, trying to get them inside. He obeyed her body and pushed one in; the redhead moaned against his lips, grasping his shoulders. "Tell me you need this too,"

"I don't!" she denied stubbornly. He dragged down her jeans and thong and spun her around, pushing her against the sink and bending her forward. "What are you-!"

"Tell me you need me!" he demanded, pumping two fingers in and out of her from behind, wanting to open her legs and ram into her. He rubbed her clitoris, watching her writhe and pant in the mirror. She met his gaze, her features desperate and he was getting increasingly hot and bothered just watching her grind against his fingers. But she still hadn't said it. "Tell me," he worked his fingers faster and firmer, half-mad with lust.

Out of nowhere, she burst into tears as if a dam inside her had broken. She smothered her sobs with her hands and hunched over, shaking her head. Jonathan felt a chill settle around him, sinking into his bones and he immediately let up, hesitating before turning his sister round and folding her into his arms. Her body was shaking violently against him and for a fleeting second, the white-blond felt ill with something not unlike guilt. He'd thought he had her, but he didn't. Not really, not yet. He may have gotten under her skin, but she didn't love him. If she did, he wouldn't have to seduce her into bed- force her. But he...Jonathan attempted to straighten out his thoughts. They were scattered, disconnected, threads that gave the impression of following through to conclusion, only to come up short.

"I cant do this, I cant be here..." his sister choked out, crying inconsolably against him, her hands braced on his chest. He tucked her head under his chin, rubbing her back in slow circles.

"Hush," he whispered softly, staring into the mirror at himself, at Clary safe in his arms. Was she safe?

"You don't get it, do you?" she retorted helplessly, pulling back to look up at him; her vivid eyes were pink and glistening, tears spilling over the lids.

"I do, Clarissa," he murmured before she could continue, placing his hands on her arms and smiling sadly down at her. "I'm a monster."

"You are." she agreed without batting an eyelid and Jonathan pretended he didn't feel his heart prick. "You weren't, but you are now and nothing can change that." he thought about saying that she could change it, but he held his tongue.

"I know." he let go of her after a beat and walked through to the bedroom with the intention of getting dressed.

"That wasn't what I was going to say..." the redhead called after him from the doorway and he frowned, glancing over his shoulder at her. She swiped at her eyes roughly. "You cant...sex me into loving you. That's what you want, right?"

"I know that too," he admitted, turning back to the wardrobe but not opening it. "Its just that I want you. All the time..."

"If you want me to love you, take me home, Jonathan. Stop all this...give yourself up." he let his eyes fall closed, feeling suddenly exhausted.

"Only when I'm dead, will you love me?" he said, his lips quirking up in half-hearted irony.

"Maybe they'll just lock you up in the Silent City for the rest of your life..." she sounded like she was trying to convince herself and he turned and smiled at her.

"I don't suppose you would visit me," he remarked, gazing across at her distraught face.

"I would." she said quietly and he believed her. He sighed and held her eyes, unflinching.

"What if I said I'd call everything off with but one condition?" there was such a long, tense pause that he was about to go on, but his sister spoke.

"If you call everything off and agree not to harm- or even come into contact with- anyone I love...then I'll stay here with you."

"I was going to say 'only if you visit me monthly'," he smirked, his chest feeling uncommonly warm.

"No, you weren't." his sister dead-panned, serious to a fault.

"I thought you wanted me to take you home?" he asked quietly, lowering his eyelashes. She drew in a sharp breath as if grappling for courage and he realised he admired her.

"If this is your only ultimatum, I have no choice." she waited a few moments to see if he would present another option, but when he didn't, she walked past him to grab some clothes out of the wardrobe and leave the room. He thought in that moment, that she knew him. Or rather, that she was starting to.

* * *

**_Someone requested a flashback of Sebastian sister-napping Clary so I thought I'd make this whole chapter Seb's POV._**

**_Let me know if the fics getting unnecessarily sexual, although it would be weird to write in Seb's POV without getting sexual at some point :P _**


	18. Chapter 18

Clary had been staring into space for what seemed like a short eternity, but in actuality was probably only an hour or two. She was sitting on the bottom step of the basement stairs, the skin of her face tight with stress and her eyes aching from her meltdown earlier on in the bathroom. Her mind was plagued by the faces of the ones she loved, but they gave her no comfort with their smiling faces. Not anymore, not now. When she thought about Jace, her stomach knotted with self-disgust and helplessness and undeserved longing. However, it was still Jocelyn that her thoughts reverted to and she felt a new, deeper understanding and empathy for her mother.

She'd been so angry with her for shutting out the Nephilim part of herself, for obstructing her view and knowledge of her rightful place in this world, but that anger seemed so selfish and immature now. Only now, did she feel the true weight of what her mother had been protecting her from; it no longer seemed like a betrayal in her eyes, rather an act of desperate- almost soul-destroying- selflessness. She couldn't imagine the heart-ache her mother had gone through by turning her back on the Shadowhunter world- turning her back on an ever-lasting part of herself.

Magnus had been right: Jocelyn hadn't been running away from only Valentine and her past, but all of it- the Shadowhunters, the Shadowhunter life. The order too tall for mere mortals, the corruption that came with power and the price to pay for it, the premature death. All of which, had effected and moulded Valentine- her father- and drove him to megalomania. It occurred to the redhead for the first time, that her father's path had not been one of destruction, but of self-destruction. Liberation through death. Was there not a single part of him, however small and deeply buried, that knew he would not succeed? Or was he too far gone to acknowledge such a possibility?

The redhead felt like she was screaming at the top of her lungs with the inevitability of it all, only to find her voice confined to the bone walls of her head. The door opened abruptly behind her, but she barely registered it, simply continued staring dead-eyed down at the ground. She didn't say anything as her brother bent down beside her and looped her left arm around his neck, lifting her into his arms. She gripped the back of his white top and rested her cheek against her arm, studying the sharp angles of his face. His features were calm as he took her upstairs and through the house, towards the front door. She didn't hope that he had changed his mind and was taking her home; she knew better. She didn't care where he was taking her, or what he was planning to do- she didn't think he could do any more than he already had. But she could be wrong; it wouldn't be the first time.

He descended the porch steps easily, as though she were weightless in his arms and veered off to the left of the house. She closed her eyes, tuning into the rhythm of his brisk footsteps and the beat of his heart within his chest, overcome with mental fatigue. There was an empty space at her core that echoed loneliness, but focusing on that wasn't going to help her in the long run; she was careful not to shy away from its existence, but she couldn't let it consume her. Somehow, she needed to muster enough strength and endurance to last a lifetime- a lifetime with her brother, the fate she had resigned herself to. And she told herself that she wasn't taking the easy way out. There wasn't anything easy about this.

Jonathan had brought her down the side of the house to what she supposed would be called a backyard, despite it consisting of nothing but more endless grass in no way exclusive to the house and one- she had to admit- magnificent willow tree, to the far left. Her green gaze landed on a tuscany-coloured picnic blanket close by as her brother set her down on her feet.

"Voilà," he said with an over the top sweep of his arm, stepping back towards the blanket. She tugged subconsciously at the hem of the pale pink, summer dress she was wearing as she looked over the plate of suspicious, home-made, triangular sandwiches and bottles of juice. There were other things but her weary eyes were already moving back up to Jonathan's expectant gaze. "What do you think?" she opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, picking at her cuticles.

She didn't know what to say. What did he want her to say? Did he want her to reward him for 'good' behaviour? She felt suddenly angry and frustrated, wanting to lash out at him with words, with fists. And as swiftly as her ire had flared up, it petered out, leaving her shaken and unsteady on her feet. She could beat at his chest and torso until she left bruises and he would probably stand there and take it. Take it like the countless beatings he'd received from Valentine throughout his childhood. She wasn't going to be like their father. She went to move forward but she teetered, her hand going to her forehead. Jonathan was beside her straight away with his right hand on her back and the other on her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he asked and then something flickered across his face too fast to pin down; his protective stance grew more pronounced. Clary blinked through the dizziness, rubbing her temples and trying to concentrate on her brothers bare feet, care-free amongst the lush blades of grass. She took a steadying breath as the black spots dotting her vision receded. "Clary?"

"It was nothing." she mumbled, avoiding his eyes, which were boring into her face. "I haven't eaten anything, that's all." she added and he took her wrist, drawing her to the picnic he'd laid out. However, she pulled on his arm to stop him.

"You need to eat something," he told her, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Jonathan, about what we talked about earlier..." she began slowly, looking up at him with renewed determination.

"You cant have changed your mind," he said with less certainty and more apprehension. For the umpteenth time, she wondered if he were acting.

"How will I know if you've kept your word?" she asked him, her voice even but her eyes fierce. "You're a liar and a murderer. Why would you be any different with me?"

"Because you are my sister," he responded patiently, moving closer and placing his hands on her upper arms. "You'll just have to trust me, however hard that may be," his tone was frigid by the end, but he smiled reassuringly down at her.

"Like you trust me?" she murmured, feeling tense under his touch.

"Yes." he titled her face up to kiss her, but she remained still, not returning the pressure; she wasn't going to fall into that trap again. He pulled back an inch as though he'd forgotten to say something but then he merely smiled secretively and brushed her lips with his once more, lingering in a way that made goosebumps rise on her arms. "_'__How much better than wine is your love, and the scent of your perfumes Than all spices...'_"

"Can the same be said for my hate?" she muttered rhetorically but he answered anyway, a gradual smirk morphing his features.

"Does love not spring from hate?"

"I think its more common for hate to spring from love." she returned, flippantly.

"Is that so?" he murmured thoughtfully and the redhead had the distinct impression that he'd read between the lines of her words, hearing a meaning different to what she'd intended.

"Since I've agreed to stay with you, there shouldn't be anything strange in those sandwiches." she spoke pointedly, edging around him and walking over to the picnic blanket.

"There isn't. But I wouldn't touch the apples if I were you," he replied with humour flashing in his fathomless eyes as he sat down across from her and crossed his legs. "They may look deliciously tempting but they'll be sure to put you into an indefinite sleep,"

"I don't doubt it." she rolled her eyes half-heartedly before surveying the other items spread between them. Two shop-bought boxes of chocolate chip muffins and icing-topped, lemon squares, a plastic tray of cherries beside the bag of apples, a slab of chocolate and a handful of packets of prawn 'n' cocktail crisps. She unscrewed the lid of her juice and took a cautious sip even though the bottle had been sealed. Orange juice. She took a gulp and then set the bottle back down, sneaking a glance at her brother. He was eating one of the sandwich quarters by tearing bits off with his slender fingers and popping them into his mouth.

"Didn't Valentine teach you how to eat properly?" she couldn't help but ask. Jonathan looked up, quirking an eyebrow and clearing his throat.

"Obviously not by your standards," he said, amusement dancing across his face. "If he was here right now, he would be eating this with a knife and fork,"

"Yeah, right." she responded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again.

"Its ridiculous, but I'm being deadly serious," her brother insisted mildly, taking his third sandwich triangle from the plate.

"What's in those?" she asked, changing the subject as her stomach panged with hunger.

"Turkey slices and salad," he answered around his food, covering his mouth with his fist. "You didn't eat the one I made you yesterday so I assumed you didn't like ham and cheese,"

"I do..." she told him faintly, biting tentatively into a quarter and looking away while she chewed. "Lets just say I was a little paranoid yesterday."

"You know," her brother began after washing down his food with his drink. "I could have forced you to drink from Lilith's Cup," he left the rest unsaid, hanging in the air between them like an electric current.

"So why didn't you?"

"Because as fun as a demonic Clarissa Adele Morgenstern would have been, it wouldn't have been you," he explained as though he was talking about why he preferred a latte over an espresso- which she highly doubted he did. "Besides, everyone has a little demon in them just itching to get out. Especially you,"

"Especially me?" Clary repeated as if he'd stung her.

"You were like a woman possessed, the way you rode me the other night," he said, biting into a shiny green apple nonchalantly.

"You're disgusting." she all but spat, biting viscously into her fourth quarter.

"_I_ think you rather like that about me," he stated, smirking at her as he lazily stretched his legs out and leant back on an elbow; his white top rode up slightly to reveal smooth skin and the redhead flushed. "It must have been dreadfully boring with Angel Boy- I know you didn't do anything with him. And I'm not just talking about the fact that you were still a virgin when you came here,"

"Well, we did think we were brother and sister for-" the redhead started to argue, her tongue dripping acid but Jonathan cut her off impatiently.

"You acted as though you loved him to the point of insanity- need I remind you that you brought him back from the dead? If it had been me, I would have made love to you then and there on the shore of Lake Lyn, even with our dead father's body lying feet away. And yet, the thought of you both being siblings was all it took for you to retract your so-called love from him. But of course, you _are_ Jocelyn Fairchild's daughter after all." she stared at her brother as his chest rose and fell rapidly, his onyx eyes ablaze with nothing altogether discernible. There were a thousand come-backs waiting on the tip of her tongue, but only a question was released into the air.

"You resent her for leaving _Valentine_?! He was out of his mind-"

"Yes, I resent her for leaving Valentine!" he shouted harshly, blood streaking across his cheekbones beneath the delicate skin. "She ruined everything! If she hadn't betrayed him, he wouldn't have had to fake his own death and take me away! She didn't think for one second about the consequences- she didn't think about _me_!" Clary was finding it hard to breathe as she stared open-mouthed at her brother. And then he was pushing up from the floor with the clear intention of storming off, his eyes bright with bottled-up hate and resentment.

"Jonathan Christopher, sit down." she ordered, finding her voice hastily and putting every ounce of authority into it as she could. Sometimes it felt like she was the older sibling, instead of the other way around. He obeyed almost reflexively, sinking to his knees. There was beautiful confliction upon his taut features as he scowled down at her and she couldn't tell if it was from the matter at hand, or because of the way she'd spoken to him. "Why do you always run away when we talk about her?" she sighed gently, although she supposed he'd just made it pretty obvious why.

"She couldn't stand the sight of me- a baby!" he hissed.

"Valentine told you that? She had post-natal depression, Jonathan." Clary told him sternly, but her eyes softened as she regarded him; he was looking down at his hands, which were clenching and unclenching against his legs. "She knew he'd done something to you- changed you- and it broke her. After the uprising, she hurried back to the Manor as fast as she could to make sure you were safe. Valentine was faster...How many times do I have to tell you she thought you were _dead_, before you'll accept it?" she sucked in a sharp breath when she finished and she found that she was on her knees and leaning forward, trying to make eye-contact with him. His ivory locks had fallen into his eyes as he continued looking down at his hands. They loosened out of their fists.

"It doesn't make a bit of difference. Nothing ever changes." he said so quietly that the redhead had to strain her ears to catch the words. And then he stood up and strode away, back up the side of the house. Without a moments thought, she bolted after him, her heart aching.

"But things have changed, haven't they?" she called breathlessly, slowing down when he spun to face her.

"Have they?" his eyes were impossibly dark but she saw a hint of challenge within them.

"From where I'm standing, they've changed pretty drastically." she responded, her voice just above a whisper and she tried not to look so unhappy about it. Jonathan looked more upset than he had before she'd spoken. "Come back," she held her hand out, her tone surprisingly pleading. "I guess you're not hungry anymore- but sit with me while I eat. Please." he released a muted sigh, looking at her proffered hand.

"We cant leave it all there anyway..." he agreed reluctantly, shuffling towards her and clasping her hand in his, after a beat.

"Right." Clary nodded and squeezed his hand lightly as she lead him back. "...Can I have the lemon squares if you have the muffins?"

"No, lemon cake is my favourite,"

"No kidding..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Can we go halves?"

"Alright...but only if you eat the cherries,"

"Don't like cherries?"

"I do, but they are annoying to eat,"

"The stones?"

"Yes,"

"Don't buy cherries again."

* * *

**_The quote I used was from Song of Solomon 4. (Which is also where that 'a garden enclosed is my sister' quote in CoLS comes from)._**

**_Just a shout-out to _angelsrushin_ for your review last chapter, concerning that certain negative review I got- you dont know how much I appreciated that. I have to admit that review got to me, but it was more because they didnt straight up say what they didnt like about the fic and it felt like they were just pussy-footing around what they really thought, which was probably something along the lines of 'how can you write incest pairings? You're disgusting' lol  
_**

**_Also, to _mandy rain_, yes, I have never read Clace (other than in the actual books) :P Tbh I got into TMI for the story. Probably because its so much like Stars Wars, at least in essence. Valentine is like a hybrid between Anakin and Palpatine, Jace is a cross between Luke and Han Solo and I suppose Clary would be Leia, though they're fairly different. Plus movie!Valentine had that padawan hairstyle and everything..._**

**_Moving on, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you guys who've reviewed/favourited/followed :)_**


	19. Chapter 19

Clary walked forward, pushing Jonathan down onto the sweat-stained bed in the basement and straddled his hips. His hands ghosted over her shoulder-blades, down her spine and curved round her sides, his thumbs brushing the skin at the centre of her ribcage. She leaned down as she parted his shirt, kissing the ugly rune on his chest over his heart, before moving her lips to his collarbone and grazing it with her teeth. His hand clamped down on the back of her neck, startling a gasp out of her but as he lifted her head away, she found herself looking down at someone else.

"Simon...?" she breathed, eyes wide with confusion. His eyes were entirely black- no whites- but she recognised him immediately. "What are you-?" she broke off as his grip on the back of her neck tightened and then with such grace and eloquence, he rose up, his mouth meeting her jugular and his teeth sinking in. She screamed harshly as he yanked her head back with a hand fisted in her fiery hair, her neck burning and warm liquid splattering and running down her sternum. Her nails clawed at his shoulders desperately at first, but after a moment, a languid air descended upon her and a sigh escaped her lips. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she slipped her fingers into his hair- which was silkier than she remembered- and the pain dulled to an ache that she felt his fangs slowly retract from, his tongue licking tentatively at the puncture wounds. When he pulled away, she glanced back down at him as if in a daze.

"Jonathan..." she whispered, not having the strength for anything louder; her fingers were still knotted in his ivory locks and his mouth and chin were drenched in her blood. He smirked and licked his lips deliberately, his arms fastening around her waist and pulling her tighter against him. The redhead took his mouth, running her tongue along his teeth and sucking on his bottom lip, her taste-buds caressed by tangy-sweet iron and her veins pumping the dregs of her blood with adrenaline. She drew his arms out of the sleeves of his shirt and threw it to the side, trailing her palms over the ridges of his scarred back.

"Clary?" a distant voice echoed in her ears. Light burst in front of her eyes as she looked over her shoulder, her brother hugging her close and pressing his cheek against her bloody neck as if out of shyness...or fear. She shielded her eyes, trying to blink through the glaring sunshine. And then her gaze focused on a horribly familiar figure emerging and she recoiled in horror.

"Jace...?"

* * *

Clary had to refrain from bolting upright as her green eyes flew open, watery and strained. As her panting gradually ceased, she felt for her throat and found it soft and delicate as usual, if a bit sweaty. Unharmed. She was lying on her back on the double bed in the basement, wearing a turquoise slip of lingerie- the least outlandish from the lot; it didn't accentuate her breasts or pull in at the waist and it hit her just above the knee. Nevertheless, lingerie was lingerie and she felt mildly exposed, especially after the dream she'd just had. Had it been a dream? Or a nightmare? It'd definitely felt like the latter before she'd woken up, but before that...

She shifted uneasily and it was then that she noticed the body heat radiating onto her left side and the light breath dancing across her shoulder. She felt a tingle go down her spine as she turned to look at her brothers sleeping form. He was on his side, one of his arms folded up under his head and he was wearing thin blue pyjama bottoms. His fair hair was partially obscuring his face but she could see his pretty lips, still and untainted by smirks and leers. She relaxed a fraction, the memory of the dream falling away from her mind. She lifted her hand to run her fingers through her brothers hair for a minute, until she realised what she was doing and hastily caught herself, clasping her hands on her stomach. She closed her eyes and released a breath, trying to block out Jonathan's presence by her side and the tension that came with it. Her muscles eventually loosened up and she sensed herself drifting off again.

* * *

The redhead looked up, feeling flushed and slightly dizzy. Jonathan was propped up on an elbow, smiling down at her with black eyes sparking with amusement. She registered his hand, hot and cupping her inner thigh as he lowered his mouth to hers without closing the gap. His voice was low and husky.

"Thinking about fucking me again?"

* * *

Clary did bolt upright this time, her heart racing and her hands clenched in the mattress sheet.

"What are you doing?" her brother complained quietly and her hand leapt to her throat in response. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling a bit faint and hesitantly lay back down.

"Go back to sleep." she just about managed to say but he must have heard the strange quality in her voice because he sighed and leaned up, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand.

"What is it?" he inquired, squinting down at her through the dim florescent light.

"Just a dream." she answered shortly, before rolling onto her side and away from him. After a beat, he curled against her back, slinging his arm over her side and hugging her back to him.

"If you say so," was all he said before kissing her hair and falling silent again.

"What, you're not gonna molest me tonight?" she muttered sarcastically, but a hidden part of her was greatly disappointed.

"Why, do you want me to?" he replied, his words muffled as he clumsily tugged up her nightie, sliding his hand underneath it to stroke her tummy. There was no smugness or condescension to the question- whether it was because he was barely conscious didn't matter; it was a mere offer, a service he would do her, should she want him to. And with his palm comfortable and warm on her skin and his body hard and lean against her back, she couldn't help but feel tempted. She didn't want to sleep- she was beginning to think that those dreams waited for her every night, to haunt her, to warp her, to drive her insane. The image of Jace as he'd looked before she'd woken up floated across her minds eye, haloed by sunshine and threatening in all his glory, his expression a mask of disbelief edged with revulsion.

"No." her hand, which had moved over her brothers of its own accord, pulled his away and proceeded to push her dress back down over her legs. She heard and felt him chuckle behind her, his hand resting possessively on her hip. "What?"

"It's fine. If you want to cut your nose off to spite your face, go ahead," he murmured, sounding more coherent now as he leaned up to press a kiss to her shoulder. Cautiously, she turned over to face him and he lay his head back down on the pillow, so close that their noses were almost touching.

"I wasn't spiting myself, I was spiting you." she told him shrewdly, returning his impenetrable gaze stiffly.

"What was your dream about?" he asked instead, cupping the back of her thigh lightly and smirking at the shudder the redhead elicited.

"Jace and Simon." she answered after a short pause. It was true, but it wasn't the whole of it. Jonathan's mouth gained a bitter quirk at the first name but Clary ignored it, only distracted herself by tracing Lilith's rune that marred his chest, with the tip of her finger. This action seemed to inadvertently soothe her brother and his features softened moderately.

"That's interesting, considering you looked like you'd had a nightmare," he commented, winding one of her curls around his finger. She looked up quickly and then back down, blood rushing to her cheeks.

"It was; you were in it." she returned pointedly with another half-truth. She brushed the length of his throat with her thumb, stopping it over his pulse point. His heart was erratic and she couldn't help glancing up at him in response. He looked perfectly serene, but his eyes were smouldering as they locked with hers.

"And what was I doing that was so terrifying?" he spoke just above a whisper and his tone was provocative as though he knew exactly what he'd been doing in her dream and that she was going to lie about it. She forced down the freeze-frame of her licking her own blood off his mouth and concentrated on his pulse under her thumb.

"Oh you know, slaughtering innocent people, the usual." she dead-panned smoothly, her face devoid of emotion.

"Liar," Jonathan stated easily, nudging her nose with his. She stared at her hand on his neck; his pale skin was thin and sensitive there, his Adam's apple distinct, but not horribly so. She saw him swallow and gradually moved her green gaze back up to his. "Squeeze a little tighter and you'll stifle my airways," the corners of his mouth curled upwards as he spoke and his eyes flashed as if daring her to try it. Although, unless she was mistaken, it seemed like he was daring her to go a step further than just test the waters.

"Do you want me to kill you, Jonathan?"

"I don't believe you can," he replied, not answering the question.

"You've died before." she pointed out faintly, watching his irises adjust every time he blinked.

"Only with help. But that's not quite what I meant," he said, lifting the curl of her hair that he'd been toying with to his nose. For a moment, Clary attempted to imagine what her brother would have looked like with red hair like hers. It was a lot easier than she thought it would be, given how much he resembled their father. It reminded her of how much of their mother his features had in them. "I don't believe you could raise your hand to kill me, just like your mother couldn't,"

"_Our_ mother." she corrected automatically and he gave her a semi-irritated look. She shifted her hand on his neck and brought her free hand up to close around the other side. The skin and bone beneath her palms felt twice as fragile, breakable. She applied the smallest amount of pressure, her eyes flickering up to her brother who was gazing at her so intensely that she felt like she'd been caught stealing.

"Is that as far as you can go?" he murmured rhetorically, a thoughtful expression gracing his angular face. Her eyebrows furrowed and she squeezed a little more. She felt his Adam's apple strain against her hands as he swallowed. She glanced up at him again and his breath was coming out of his nose in short gusts. Her lips parted as her own breathing grew laboured and sweat beaded along her spine. It was almost as if she were strangling herself. She applied just enough extra pressure to cut off her brothers oxygen. His mouth opened as he struggled to breathe but his eyes remained unfazed- there was only a dark enjoyment shining in their depths, as well as that fierce trust that pierced through her and something else, not unlike hope. After a second more, she released him as if someone had yanked her back, the imprints on his neck of where her hands had been making her sick to the stomach. Jonathan had sucked in an audible breath instantly, closing his eyes and panting lightly.

"I'm sorry," she found herself blurting out, her hands reaching for his neck as if to undo the marks she'd left on him, before thinking better of it and drawing them to her chest. "I'm sorry-"

"Why are you apologising? You didn't do anything," he responded, his voice raspy and his eyes still closed. "And even if you had, it wouldn't have been wrong, would it? I'm evil, remember," his arm came around her, drawing her flush against him and he tucked her head under his chin. Her hands were braced on his chest and she leant her forehead on them. She was trembling and she could feel his hand rubbing her back as she tried to calm down.

"You were defenceless," she reasoned with herself, feeling guilty for not being able to take the chance she'd been handed. Tears stung her eyes but she held them back, taking deep breaths. "You weren't going to stop me, were you?"

"Honestly?" he began, his tone surprisingly nonchalantly, although still rough from the strain she'd put on his vocal cords. "I don't know,"

"How could you not know? You were manipulating me, weren't you- you wanted me to kill you so I'd be like you." she accused suddenly, anger igniting at her core and raising her volume. She pushed back so she could glare up at him.

"We're already alike," he retorted patiently, his gaze clear. "And I wouldn't allow myself to be killed unless I was taking you with me," the redhead stared at her brother for a long time, trying to decipher his thoughts even though she had no way of hearing them.

"So you were going to stop me." she clarified, letting her tone ooze acidic doubt.

"I don't know," he repeated, baffling her further.

"What does that-"

"You didn't bring me close enough to death, for me to reach the point of that particular decision," he answered with a shrug.

"Don't you think you should have decided before enticing me to strangle you?" she returned, exasperation clouding her mind.

"This wasn't an experiment, Clarissa," he stated with a sigh. "I see you're still finding it difficult to distinguish between myself and our father,"

"Whatever." she muttered, rolling out of his embrace and onto her back. From the corner of her eye, she saw her brother turn onto his back, mirroring her position.

"What did it feel like?" he asked quietly as she stared up at the dank ceiling. She thought about it for so long that he prompted her by whispering her name.

"Unnatural." she told him finally; she could still feel the fine bones of his neck under her palms. She squeezed her eyes shut, fisting her hands.

"Unnatural...?" Jonathan echoed softly as if from across a vast, baron field.

"It felt like I was playing God- holding your life in the palms of my hands. A life I have no right to take away..." her voice was empty, hollow and she sensed her brothers knuckles brush over hers.

"Do you believe in God?" he asked curiously, his slender fingers sliding under hers to clasp her hand. She looked over at him involuntarily, but his eyes were closed as though he was already asleep.

"No." she answered reluctantly and she saw his lips twitch.

"Quite a contradiction, that,"

"I said it _felt_ like I was God- like some kind of sentient being." she explained with a sardonic lilt to her tone.

"The angel Raziel, for instance," Jonathan supplied, lifting their entwined hands and pressing the back of her hand to his cheek.

"Yeah..." she nodded a little, eyes glazing over as she recalled the surge of heat that had coursed through her body as she'd gripped her brothers throat. "I can't judge you. Not when I think about everything Valentine did to you." she continued, her voice a weak whisper. "But you do need to die, Jonathan. You know that, right?" she looked over at him and he kissed her knuckles before turning his head to meet her gaze.

"Not yet," he breathed, smiling vaguely before letting go of her hand and rolling over to her. She could see a red line across the front of his neck as he leaned down towards her. Her eyelids fell closed as his mouth came down on hers, feather-light for a change and catching her off guard so that she kissed him back without thinking. Just as she felt her will spiralling down into nothingness and her hands came up to pull him closer by his shoulders, he withdrew and lay down beside her in much the same fashion as he had been earlier when she'd first woken. "Goodnight, Sister,"

"...Goodnight...Brother."

* * *

**_Sorry for the delay! And sorry for any mistakes, I'm too tired to proofread right now.  
_Ariya_: I'm with you on Jocelyn- I'm forever stuck between wanting to feel sorry for her and flat-out hating her. But from Clary's POV, her mother is blameless._**


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